Everything Golden
by Angelight
Summary: [AU] Pay: 250hour. Mission: Persuasion. “She’s a modernday Helen of Troy, but she’s never been on a single magazine cover! Why! Tell me why I’m not getting rich off this girl!
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: No GW or SM.

This was actually begun a while ago. I just haven't written anything lately so I took a deep breath and decided to post this. O.o; I don't know if it's interesting or not. A lot of mixed responses. -; Feedback, please? I feel so insecure. -;

When I slipped out of my block, I was elated … but the more I read it, the more annoying and dull it gets … lol. So! Am I incredibly accurate? xDxD; And is it because of the fluff? Especially in the Milliardo section O.O;; It's long … a prologue to a "short"chapter-wise fic.

The semi-Milliardo bashing … it wasn't truly intended. O.O;; But since almost everything is expressed through Hiiro and there'd been some … friction between Milliardo and Hiiro, I just … magnified Hiiro's dislike for Milliardo. :3

And is Hiiro OOC? O.O;; I do believe he is. xD;

And really bad attempted humor. ;-;

Enjoy, minna-sama:D

(space)

_Everything Golden_

_Prologue_

Angelight

(space)

**IMG Modeling **

**304 Park Avenue**

**New York**

**10:30 a.m.**

She became the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and _he_ had seen a lot of beautiful women. A lot of beautiful men, too, but that was beside the point.

"Like her? She's new."

He turned around at the sound of Milliardo's low voice. "She's beautiful."

The blonde man made a face and shrugged, rotating lazily in the executive chair in front of New York's mid-afternoon skyline. A layer of car exhaust, cigarette smoke, and God knows what else clung to the city, blocking the wan sun and promising an off-the-chart particle pollution index. "Has a great figure, confident. Not much of a conversant though."

"None of them are."

Milliardo raised an eyebrow, staring up at him from his slouched position, tapping his foot to some song only he could hear. "Models, you mean?"

A brief nod answered him as Hiiro Yui, male model extraordinaire, paced to the plush chair opposite of Milliardo and sat, tailored pants with hidden seams wrinkling as per plan.

"_You're_ not too shabby, Yui."

Hiiro stared and took a deep breath before turning to the side. "Check for me, Milliardo; am I blushing?"

The chief executive narrowed his eyes.**1** "Check your sass at the door, Yui." He stilled the spinning chair and straightened, wincing from having sat in the same position for the last hour. "Don't think I'm not just as disturbed as you are. Surrounded by beautiful women 24/7 and I'm complimenting _you_ on your conversational skills." Milliardo paused to study the mat-like calendar on his desk. "I think I'll call my therapist. Maybe schedule an appointment with my hair stylist." He frowned and penciled something in with curt brevity.

_Too much information._ "I hope I'm not here just to listen to your sob story because I have better things to do. Like earning a living that you prey on."

Milliardo looked up and leaned back again into the chair, twirling the pen with irritating nonchalance. "That wounds me deeply, Yui."

Hiiro scowled. Milliardo's tone fitted more for a phrase like 'Why, thank you, my hair _is_ always this beautiful.' But Hiiro knew that visible exasperation flashed a 'shoot me' sign at Milliardo, and Hiiro knew that Milliardo knew that Hiiro knew. So, smoothing his nerves, he schooled his expression to one fit for the runway. "Check the tabloids. The love of your life is green and fits in a wallet."

"I resent that! There are plenty of things I love more than money! Like Relena. I love her to pieces-"

The intercom on his desk came to life, putting a stopper on his blooming counterargument. "Mr. Peacecraft, your sister is on the phone-"

"Tell her to call me back."

A corner of Hiiro's mouth twitched upward. He fought the smile down but couldn't resist the urge to raise a skeptic eyebrow at the head of his agency.

The calm, contained voice continued as if she hadn't heard him. "-and she says that she would like to get a tattoo on her…" A pause followed by a dull thud as something fell – the girlish voice yelped. "on her … rear."

An explosive bang shattered the air-conditioned air of the office as Milliardo jumped to his feet, slamming his hands onto the table and knocking over his coffee. "What! No! Absolutely not! As long as I'm alive, not a single tattoo is going to be on her … on her!"

Hiiro had to fight down another smile as Milliardo's pale skin reddened with irritation.

The calm voice returned. "She also says that she was just kidding, and now that she has your attention, she'd like to speak with you."

Milliardo's tense shoulders slumped, his angry posture dissolved, and he sank back into his chair. Hiiro thought the blonde looked awfully like a blustering rooster who'd just had its feathers plucked. Or maybe he had just exhausted himself after suffering a couple of minor strokes. With a sigh and a run of his fingers through his hair, Milliardo snatched the phone up and swiveled to face the skyline. "Yeah?" His voice dropped to a murmur. Not that there was much to overhear – Milliardo seemed only to talk to his sister in grunts and monosyllabic words.

He glanced around at the office with its bleached walls plastered with posters of the agency's cover girls. There were many, and he couldn't help feeling a bit claustrophobic surrounded by so many pairs of long, long legs. Two years ago, the only long legs he'd have seen would've been those of the prostitutes that hanged near the Plaza Hotel, from 59th and Central Park South to 6th Avenue and 58th. Two years ago, he only existed as part of the riffraff on the streets, starting his third year in a gang notorious for taking people in and not letting them out.

Hiiro Yui had several monikers in the business – the ugly duckling turned swan, the essence of rags to riches, the boy who would be king. His life had changed on his nineteenth birthday when a friend offered to take him to a Knicks game at Madison Square Garden. He didn't remember much of the game – it hadn't interested him –, just that when the cameraman panned the crowd, he started focusing on Hiiro. It reached the point that whenever Hiiro's face flashed up, the crowd roared. Even the players stopped to see why.

Stephon Marbury missed two shots because of the sudden bursts of cheering whenever the screen displayed Hiiro's face. Because of Hiiro, the Knicks lost a pivotal game and didn't go to the playoffs that year. Lenny Wilkens, the head coach, had called time out and stormed up to the cameraman, threatening to litigate him to hell. The cameraman told him to get lost.

Later, tabloids reported that the Nets had bribed the cameraman to sabotage the NYC team, but nobody really believed them and, by then, nobody really cared, because Hiiro Yui was the star of the moment, the brightest star on IMG Modeling's Christmas tree that year. Milliardo, Hiiro thought, must have loved Santa Claus to death that winter. And why not? Hiiro Yui netted 3.6 million that holiday season and, the following March, _Cosmo_ valued him at 6.6.

It was a very merry Christmas.

"Yeah, yeah, goodbye to you, too." Milliardo turned back to face Hiiro, phone still pressed to his ear. He heaved a sigh and smiled. "Love you, too." The phone fell back into the cradle. Milliardo straightened his tie, muttered a string of curses, and snapped at his secretary to clean up the spilled coffee. The janitor came and went with brisk efficiency; Hiiro hardly noticed.

Milliardo, at last, looked up and caught Hiiro staring at a _Vogue Italia_ cover on the wall.

"Gisele. Isn't she a wonder?"

"A wonder," Hiiro repeated, distaste coloring his words. His jaw clenched, and he took nearly half a minute to relax the muscle enough to manage speech.

_People_ had called Hiiro the male Gisele, a high compliment, if taken the right way. It hadn't been taken the right way. In the following issue, _People_ reported that Hiiro Yui had told the reporter to, in essence, take a hike and had insisted that Gisele should be called the female Hiiro.

Milliardo didn't seem to notice Hiiro's muscles flexing as he gripped the arms of the chair. "And it's taking so long for that DiCaprio kid to propose. It's not as if the media isn't already all over them like maggots on-"

"I get the point." Milliardo loved comparing reporters to maggots, but who was the real maggot here? Hiiro sometimes wondered if, perhaps, Milliardo had lived as one in a past life. And if word ever got out that Hiiro thought so highly of his agency's boss, he'd be in the looking for employment line faster than he could say "Maggot Millie".

"And that brings me to my topic." Milliardo straightened again, leaning forward as if ready to divulge the secret to life. "You see that poster on the wall? Do you see anything wrong with the woman on that poster?"

"No…" Hiiro started. Of course Gisele had no imperfections. They brought her all the way from Brazil to flaunt herself _because_ she had no imperfections. And how did maggots, reporters, and Leonardo DiCaprio bring Milliardo to his topic, even if they were of the same breed?

The executive flashed him a self-satisfied smile as if Gisele's lack of imperfections was a personal compliment to him. "Right. I can summarize in two words: Brazilian goddess. But you ain't seen nothin' yet." He turned the computer screen to Hiiro. "Meet Helen."

"Helen."

"Helen."

Hiiro frowned in annoyance. "Helen _who_?"

Milliardo rubbed the back of his neck and pursed his lips. "Well … that's the problem. I don't know her real name. I don't have her address. I don't have her phone number. I don't have anything on her. Except this."

Hiiro glanced up at Milliardo. The blonde seemed to expect him to say something. He shrugged."She's pretty."

"Pretty? _Pretty!_" The CEO made the word sound like blasphemy; red climbed up his pale cheeks again. "No, no, Kate Moss is _pretty_; this girl is … is … there isn't a word strong enough in the English language." Milliardo pushed the computer towards Hiiro as if urging him to take a closer look. Hiiro wondered if the monitor would teeter and fall off the office desk. "Look closer, Yui. This is a passport picture. It looks like a cover girl shot."

He shrugged again, the corners of his mouth turning downward. "Okay. She's gorgeous. Why am I here?"

Milliardo flipped open his planner, the pages stained from the earlier coffee accident, and recited, "Scenario Uno: approached by agent, accepted business card, failed to call back. Scenario Dos: approached by agent, tore up business card, offered snide remarks on agent's sense of style and sexuality – we had to pay for the counseling. Scenario Tres: avoided agent, took a taxi to jail, agent confined for forty-eight hours on charges of stalking – need I go on?"

"You want me to convince her to model," Hiiro concluded, countenance darkening by the second.

Milliardo gritted his teeth and stood up with such ferocity that the wheeled chair tipped over behind him with a loud crash. "She's a modern-day Helen of Troy, but she's never been on a single magazine cover! Why! Tell me why I'm not getting rich off this girl!"

Hiiro gazed up at his red-faced boss and decided light blonde didn't go too well with burgundy. "I don't want to hazard a guess, but … maybe she doesn't want to model? Take Bridget Hall – beautiful, moneyed, but never made it past eighth grade."

The blonde started pacing – not a good sign. Hiiro sat up straighter. "_No_, she _has_ to model! She's a woman, isn't she? Women love the idea of being beautiful. Well, Helen, apparently, doesn't. But that doesn't matter. Because if I can manage to have her love the idea of being beautiful for _you_ then-"

"I'm out of here," Hiiro finished, standing with practiced languor. He'd been waiting almost forty-five minutes for that catch phrase, and, with the wasted time in mind, Hiiro heaved a heavy sigh.

"Hey, hey! I'm not asking you to seduce her or anything."

The brunette turned to meet his eyes. "Sounds like it to me."

Milliardo scowled and crossed his arms. "Check your hearing then." He uncrossed his arms and let out a long breath of air, trying to look trustworthy and filled with integrity. He didn't succeed. "Look, you're a man and you're, as far as I know, not a pansy. She is the most beautiful woman alive. Don't you at least want to meet her?"

Hiiro turned to leave.

"200 dollars an hour. Every hour of the day, every day of the week."

Ah, finally – the Milliardo he knew and loved. This time, Hiiro hesitated before grabbing the doorknob.

"250 dollars. My highest offer."

His hand remained on the doorknob, but he didn't proceed.

Milliardo chose that moment to play his ace of spades. "Think about it, Yui. I'm _paying_ you nearly 2.2 million a year to spend time with Helen of Troy."

That was some quick mental math.

Hiiro's brow furrowed. What could he buy with 2.2 million? No, what _couldn't _he buy with 2.2 million?

His hand fell to his side. "Talk to me."

(space)

**Right outside of Starbucks**

**1385 Metropolitan Avenue**

**The ****Bronx****, NYC**

**4:56 p.m.**

The walk sign flashed up across the street, but nobody paid it any attention – only tourists didn't dare to cross without it.

Hiiro leaned against the lamppost, staring into the dimly-lit Starbucks, glancing down at his watch every five seconds. The lights hanging from the ceiling gave off a dull, orange-ish glow that quashed all hopes of his making out any faces. He glared at the vague outline of his reflection on the window. VH1's most recent male model of the year glared back at him, sporting a Hugo Boss suit and a shock of blonde hair.

He glanced at his watch again – four more minutes to go. Hiiro heaved a sigh and tapped his foot; he hated being early – he preferred to make others wait for _him_.

But the world hadn't proved itself to be _too_ cruel. After all, he still had sunglasses, was incognito, and in the Bronx where nobody thought to look for celebrities. That meant no fangirls, no tourists, and no photographers.

"All right, Ami, I'll see you tomorrow!" His head snapped up, and he eyed the blonde figure, turned away from him, at the door. She waved before walking out of the only Starbucks in the Bronx and headed for the intersection.

"Excuse me, but…" He stopped short as she turned to look at him with more annoyance than curiosity.

"Yes?" she pressed, glancing at the blinking walk sign.

Only then did he realize he was staring and at a loss for words.

The picture that Milliardo had produced was just that – a picture, a moment of, no, a _fraction_ of beauty and magnificence. His eyes scanned her – tolerable height, blonde hair, blue eyes, the delicate bone structure of East Asians.

She shot the don't walk sign a peeved look and glared at him.

Hiiro cleared his throat and reached into his pocket. "I, um … have you ever considered modeling? I'm with IMG here in New York. We're considered the most respectable name in the business, and if you're interested, here's my business card and-"

She rolled her eyes and waved a hand as if shooing his words away – a good sign?

"You wouldn't believe this, but in the last week, I've been contacted five times by agents. It's like you guys have a tracking device on me or something." She laughed a little. "But I'm sorry. I'm not interested in modeling. Thank you though." With that, Helen started to walk away, cutting Hiiro off from his hourly 250.

He ran after her across the intersection, barely missing a taxicab. The driver yelled at him and flicked him off. Hiiro returned the favor before catching Helen's arm.

"Look, lady, get your head out of the clouds. Your pay there is … max 15/hour. If you start modeling, they'll be paying you that for ten seconds of your time."

She jerked her arm from his hand, her cheeks growing pink with rising resent. "Let go of me, Mr. Pretty Boy. I'm not interested." **2**

"I'm telling you, you're today's Helen of Troy. You'll make a fortune!" The choice word there was _fortune_; everybody seemed to bend to that charming little devil of a word.

Placing on hand on her hip, she glowered at him; Helen wasn't amused by _fortune_, he supposed. "Look, mister, this is New York. I can make a fortune by selling stocks; I can make a fortune by selling drugs; I can make a fortune by selling cookies – there are lots of venues beside civilized prostitution." And then went Helen, skirt fluttering, tennis shoes making hardly a sound.

He stared after her for a long time, waving goodbye to his 2.2 million.

(space)

**Usagi's apartment**

**The ****South Bronx**

**New York**

**5:45 p.m.**

She had to skirt the small patches of ice at the doorway – nobody bothered to remedy it even after Mrs. Wilson slipped and met her death a few years ago. The door creaked open, and Usagi stepped into the hardly warmer interior, staring up at a flight of wooden stairs prone to burning in a borough known for arson.**3** She started up the first flight and headed for the fourth – the top of the building, though her apartment hardly counted as a penthouse.

"Don't you dare try to sneak past me, young lady! Your rent is overdue for three months, y'hear? Don't pay by the beginning of April, and I'm kicking you out."

Rats. Made it five steps this time – was she improving? Usagi's shoulders fell, and she sighed. "Yes, yes. I know. But c'mon, be a little more lenient, will you? It's not as if this is the Four Seasons or anything."

The old prune of a woman peered out at her tenant from the doorway of her apartment. "You're right. It's not the Four Seasons. After all, what would you be doing at the Four Seasons?" She seemed to find this quite funny, and Usagi had to wait a whole three minutes before the old goat stopped wheezing out laughs.

"I'll pay you by April." She started up the stairs again.

"All of it!" the landlady called after her.

"All of it," Usagi muttered. "350 a month for _this_?" She stared at the gap in the stairs where a step had fallen out and tried her best to breach it – there was no handrail to steady her, and she loathed to touch the dingy wall.

Having hazarded the stairs, the blonde unlocked her door, gave it a cruel yank – there was a trick to it –, and stepped into home sweet home. But home sweet home was only a tiny apartment with threadbare carpet; graying walls; spider vein cracks; two rooms, counting the den; and no bathroom – _that_ was in the hall. Perhaps home sweet home should be renamed punishment-for-some-heinous-crime-she'd-committed-in-her-last-life.

"Helen of Troy and I'm still three months behind on my rent." Usagi inspected herself in the mirror set above the kitchen sink. "Modeling, huh?" She made a face. "What a joke."

Usagi threw herself onto the bed without taking off her clothes and grabbed the newspaper on the bedside table; she didn't know why she still bothered scouring the classifieds – she didn't have time to squeeze another job in. Just as she got to "personal shopper wanted", a door slammed accompanied by loud sobbing, resounding through paper-thin walls. Usagi sighed and steeled herself for another late-night, commiserative moment.

"Bernie? You all right in there?"

A slight pause in the sobbing as Bernie sniffled and blew his nose. "Y…Yeah, just fine."

Minutes ticked by.

"Oh come on, Bernie! I need to concentrate."

The sobbing seemed to get louder. "But – but you see, I saw this girl on the subway this afternoon, and she looked _just like her_. And-and…" He broke down just when Usagi rolled her eyes.

"Bernie, she left you two years ago. Isn't it about time to get over it?"

The man whimpered and took a shuddering breath. "I can't. I don't know what I'm going to do."

Usagi glanced at the personal shopper ad and took a deep breath. "You're a lawyer, Bernie. Find a reason against the divorce – litigate, litigate, litigate."

Bernie didn't seem to take much comfort in Usagi's words – his crying intensified.

"Bernie, I really need to concentrate so, _please_ … just for tonight. No crying."

"But I-"

"Bernie, just _shut up_!"

Oh, now she'd done it. Three, two, one – Bernie started wailing like a police siren. Usagi got a hold of herself and counted to ten.

She buried her face in her hands and tried to rub some of the fatigue out of her eyes. "Oh Lord, don't cry like that. I hate it when you cry like that. I-I'm sorry. I really am. I didn't mean to yell at you. I-I…"

Another whimper, followed by a sniffle and a choked sob. "You mean it?"

"Yeah. Just … try relaxing and getting some sleep tonight, okay? You have work in the morning." Usagi took a quick look at her watch – 6:30 and she was already using the "get some sleep" ploy.

"R-right." The sniffling died down, and a moment of silence passed. "T-thanks, Usagi."

She peeked at her watch. It'd only taken twenty minutes to calm him down this time; she had come a long way. "Anytime."

(space)

**IMG Modeling **

**New York**

**5:30 a.m.**

When Milliardo Peacecraft entered the building that day – early again because the Victoria's Secret annual show was approaching –, somebody was watching him, waiting in his dark office.**4** That someone timed Milliardo's rituals down to only a second or two of error. That someone knew when he was nodding at the doorman, when he was greeting his secretary, and when he was sliding his hand over the wall, feeling for the light switch.

"Damn it! You almost gave me a heart attack, Yui! And if I'd died, my lawyers would sue the pants off you."

That someone had also known that Milliardo would say that.

"Does Helen go to college?" Hiiro stood and reached for the coffeemaker, already brewing thanks to the secretary. Milliardo took off his coat and tossed it onto the decorative sofa in the corner.

"Pour me a cup while you're up, will you?"

Hiiro grumbled but consented.

"Does Helen go to college?" he repeated, handing the Styrofoam cup to Milliardo with ferocity before getting his own.

The blonde took a sip and then a gulp. "She seems the age, doesn't she?"

Hiiro sat again. "Makeup can make a person look twenty years younger."

"And lack of sleep can make a person look twenty years older. You're looking lovely this morning, Yui." He eyed Hiiro's complexion and cringed.

"You're not."

Milliardo shrugged. "That's why I don't model."

"College, _Zechs_, college." The CEO seemed to bristle at his childhood nickname, the nonchalant smile oozing off his face like makeup on a hot day.

"We think she goes to NYU, all right? What're you going to do? Register there? It's the middle of the term – hardly any more classes open," he sneered, setting the coffee down**. 5**

Hiiro stirred his. "I hoped IMG could foot the bill."

Milliardo frowned. _Bill_, Hiiro knew, was one of the executive's least favorite words, next to _cost_ and _bankruptcy._ "Bill Clinton watch out," Naomi Campbell had joked once.

"The bill?"

"All my expenses during this job, plus the salary."

Milliardo seemed a bit startled, blinking and leaning back into his leather chair as if unable to bear the weight of Hiiro's demand that early in the morning. "And you say I love money."

"You would do the same thing."

A pause passed as both men stared into their coffee cups. "Fine. On one condition."

Hiiro raised a quizzical eyebrow.

"If you don't succeed, consider all this time wasted. You don't get nothin' and the expenses will be taken as an additional royalty from your salary."

Hiiro thought for a moment. "Fair."

"Of course I am," Milliardo retorted, straightening his collar.

"Yeah, of course you are, pinhead."

(space)

**New York****University****, Student Services **

**25 ****W. 4th Street**

**9:15 a.m.**

Of all the divisions at NYU, Hiiro's intention focused on the Tisch School of Arts, the Rita and Burton Goldberg Department of Dramatic Writing, and the Helen who took courses there.

"All right, Mr. Hiiro Yui. This counts as late registration, and there'll be a fee." The short, blonde receptionist paused to stare at him with obvious skepticism. Hiiro had chosen not to impress and dressed in a pullover and old jeans that would sell for, perhaps, a couple of thousand. But only because _he_ had worn them.

He, with nonchalance, pulled up his sleeve and eyed his custom-made Rolex, making sure the blonde did too. She looked stunned for a moment but then returned to her previous fed up look. "It will also be submitted for approval to the Dean of Student Affairs, Chris Kelly." She tore a sheet of paper out of her notebook and scribbled an address onto it. "You must give him a compelling reason for why you're late in registering."

"So how do I apply?"

She stared at him. "You mean you haven't readied your application yet?" He nodded. She let go of the third frustrated sigh he'd heard since he had met her about three minutes ago and rolled her eyes. "To apply to the Dept. of Dramatic Writing, you'll need to fill out the application, submit a brief statement about what you hope to contribute to and gain from the program, and send in a portfolio of five to twenty-five pages of your written work to Professor Mark Dickerman at this address." She started to write another address onto the sheet of paper, but Hiiro stopped her.

"A portfolio. Is that mandatory?" Hiiro could feel the color draining from his face – he had no talent in dramatic writing. Even in school, he'd always done _reports_ not _stories_.

"Of course, Mr. Yui," she replied without thinking and returned to writing down the contact information.

Hiiro followed her example and let out a frustrated sigh. "Look, lady, I'm with IMG Modeling here in NYC, and I've had my eye on one of NYU's students. But I can't contact her. So if I could just skip the preliminaries … I'll just sit in on a couple of classes, won't take the exams – nobody will know I'm there."

She didn't even process his words before replying, "You'll have to talk to Andrew I. Uriarte, the Director of Recruitment at this addr-"

She stopped short and stared at his hand covering hers. Hiiro noted with some satisfaction that her cheeks were flushed and her breathing quick. "No, I don't want this to take long," he told her, voice slow and measured. Soft.

He let go of her and pulled out his checkbook. "How much do you want? To give me the necessary materials, ID – everything I need to fit in?"

She looked from the checkbook to his face and then back again; red still colored her cheeks. "Ten grand. And you pay for your own textbooks."

"Done." Hiiro took her pen and wrote it out.

"I-I'll have everything ready in thirty minutes if you're willing to wait."

"I appreciate it," he replied.

(space)

**Craft of Dramatic and Visual Writing Course**

**NYU**

**10:45 a.m.**

Gallagher and Goldfarb – those were the two professors up front babbling about Gallagher's sister's upcoming wedding. About a hundred students sat in the seminar room, most hanging onto every word. Hiiro didn't even have to sneak in – the students were too busy taking notes on the number of layers the wedding cake would have.

He scanned for blonde hair and, with a trill of excitement, saw her, at a diagonal, just two rows in front of him.

"Hey, man, you new around here?"

Hiiro shot the voice a look of annoyance and indifference. "Yes."

"Well, buddy, a word to the wise – take notes. Gallagher and Goldfart have a habit of testing over everything they say – right down to the color of their sister's wedding dress." The man smiled at him, sporting a ridiculous, long braid in a season when long hair was _not_ in vogue.

"Goldfart," Hiiro muttered.

"It's an affectionate nickname."

He'd hate to see what they'd call him if they _didn't_ like him.

Hiiro started and gazed at the hand in front of him.

"Duo Maxwell. You are?"

"Hiiro Yui." He didn't reach to shake Duo's hand, and Duo retracted it.

"Well, Hiiro, you want to meet up with some of my friends for lunch after this?" Hiiro sighed. _Shoo fly._ Duo didn't seem to be too good at following his own advice – he wasn't paying a stitch of attention to the professors.

Now was the time to decline politely, sans the politely. "No, I really-"

"Quatre is that blonde guy down there, and Usagi is the girl beside him." Duo pointed.

Hiiro started. Usagi. "_That_ girl?"

"Yeah. Pretty, isn't she?"

"I can't tell from the back of her head," Hiiro muttered.

Duo's smile widened. "Oh, trust me, she's beautiful. Interested?"

Hiiro looked up, startled but trying his hardest not to let it show. "In her?"

Duo laughed. "No, in me." Hiiro shot him a disgusted look. "For lunch, that is."

(space)

**The Red Bamboo**

**140 ****W. 4th St**

**12:15 p.m.**

Snow and ice still draped white mantles over Washington Square Park's grass and trees.**6** The temperature that day was around forty-two degrees Fahrenheit. It had taken hardly five minutes to get to the restaurant, walking at a brisk pace, listening to Duo chattering at an even brisker pace.

"The prices are a little high around here, but the lunch special is only 6.95 with entrée and appetizer – Quatre's the only one who doesn't need to worry; he's the rich boy around here. You ever been here?"

"No." He felt insulted – Hiiro Yui didn't _do_ Chinese restaurants. At least, not of this caliber.

Duo shrugged as if saying 'your loss' though Hiiro couldn't even begin to fathom why. "It's pretty good – nice atmosphere, good service, food's not bad, if your goal in life is to become a vegetarian. But Quatre and Usagi like it so I tag along for the company." He laughed a little. "They sometimes find me annoying."

"Imagine that."

Duo was already distracted, hardly able to catch Hiiro's short phrase. "Hey! Over here!" Usagi and Quatre both looked up and walked over. Usagi raised an eyebrow at Duo and glanced at Hiiro not without some apprehension. Quatre just looked preoccupied.

A waitress hurried over and hand the two newcomers their menus.

"Something the matter, Quat? You look…"

"Disturbed," Usagi supplied, opening and scanning the list of dishes. "I was just asking him about it."

Quatre had yet to touch his menu. "No, I just had a strange dream last night."

Duo grinned, slapping the blonde in the back. Quatre shot Duo a riled look. Hiiro could only imagine how much Duo's earlier remark 'they sometimes find me annoying' was an understatement. "Did it involve anybody in a bikini?" The braided man glanced at Usagi.

Usagi's eyes narrowed. "Like Duo, for instance?"

"Duo in a bikini?" Quatre blanched and took a quick sip of his lemon water. "No, no. Not that strange. I dreamt I ate a ten-pound marshmallow."

Duo sighed and leaned back in his seat, deflated. "Is that it? What, you afraid of getting fat?"

"When I woke up, my pillow was gone."

Silence.

Hiiro watched Usagi and Duo stare at Quatre's stomach.

"Well … I always thought your pillows looked good enough to eat," Duo started.

Usagi cracked up. "Rich in fiber, too."

Quatre cast them both a hurt look. "You're not suggesting that…that I…" He looked down at his own stomach and gulped delicately. "I feel queasy."

Only when the blonde looked up after inspecting his own stomach did he notice Hiiro. He looked mortified, his face a rich pink. "Duo! You don't even have the manners to introduce us?"

"This is the thanks I get? I truly worried about your health there, Quat. Haven't you ever heard of cotton poisoning?"

But Quatre no longer paid him any attention. He stood up and stuck his hand out. "Hi, my name is Quatre Raberba Winner, and this is Usagi Tsukino. We're Duo's friends." Hiiro shook it gingerly.

"Hiiro Yui."

"So, Hiiro, you new in town?" Quatre started.

"Yeah, Hiiro here just registered in dramatic writing at NYU."

Hiiro glowered at Duo before nodding in confirmation.

Usagi snapped out of her mental conversation with her water and straightened. "Wait, you're new? Are you looking for a place to stay? Because if you're interested in having a roommate…"

Hiiro looked up and reminded himself to breathe. Like hotcakes falling out of the sky. "As a matter of fact…"

A relieved look passed over her face. "Oh, thank God, Hiiro Yui. I've been behind on my rent since the beginning of this year. Maybe you could come over tomorrow after morning classes and take a look."

Forget hotcakes – this was like Cartier's jewelry falling out of the sky.

Quatre frowned. "Usagi, why didn't you tell me that you needed money? I could've helped."

She waved a dismissive hand as if shooing the very notion aside. "Don't worry about it. If anything, your mother hen instinct would just be another problem on my list."

Quatre sighed and gave Hiiro an uncomfortable look which Hiiro tried to ignore.

"So will you come?"

"I suppose." He looked aside – he didn't want to seem too eager.

"Yes!" Usagi cheered. "I'll give you the grand tour, then. Tomorrow at 11:30."

Hiiro started planning his spending of the 2.2 million.

(space)

1. Milliardo as the chief executive of IMG: It makes absolutely no sense. xD; IMG has several locations and doesn't specialize only in modeling. I believe … they do almost anything that has to do with publicity. O.O;; But I didn't research into it. ; So it makes no sense that Milliardo, CEO of IMG, would hang around so long in NYC. He'd probably be in Europe. And he wouldn't be talking with Hiiro, just one stepping stone to his corporate empire – he'd have a lower manager do it. _Plus_, he wouldn't personally go in early to handle the Victoria's Secret show because modeling isn't his only venue. Y'see:3 But I wanted Milliardo as the CEO because he needed the desire to personally benefit from dearest Helen. :D

2. "Let go of me, Mr. Pretty Boy.": The nickname borrowed from Transcendent-san from Cold Day in Hell. :3

3. "In a borough known for arson.": NYC is divided into five boroughs – Manhattan, the Bronx, Queens, Brooklyn, and Staten Island. Southern Bronx was known for arson historically. Not too historically, though – about 20 or so years ago. Statistically, there were about 33 cases per night. xD;

4. "The annual Victoria's Secret show.": I don't know if such a thing exists. O.o; Do they have an annual, major, special show? xD; Anyhow. Last year, the one most talked about was broadcasted on CBS on November 20th big controversies – very amusing. xDxD; so … if that is their big annual show, then I'd assume it's in winter. ; But the current time in this fic isn't anywhere within three months of November. -; So please excuse the inaccuracy.

5. "Hardly any classes open … NYU.": I don't know if this is true. If you register late in college … is there a major problem with full classes? O.o; But it seemed logical to me so … :D

6. Walking past Washington Square Park: When I asked for driving directions from NYU to The Red Bamboo on Yahoo, it made me go from 4th St. to the street next to it and then turn back to 4th St., effectively skirting the park. Why? O.O; I have no earthly idea. But Yahoo is supposed to pick the shortest route … so is there something wrong with traveling on 4th St. at that point? Well. I made them do it anyhow. xD; Besides – they're walking, not driving. :3

7. Usagi's apartment: I searched for an apartment for Usagi but I was limited by price. xD; And since excessively horrid apartments don't advertise on the internet, I was unable to find an actual apartment for her. -; However, according to a former New Yorker, the Bronx _should_ be the place with cheap apartments and fairly okay security hey, at least it's not lower east side. -; so … no details on Usagi's apartment. :D

8. Everything else in here is completely accurate and all the locations exist, all the numbers, the people, right down to the Plaza Hotel prostitute haunt can you believe that was on the internet? O.o; and Bridget Hall's eight years of education. ;

Was it bad:O Please, please, feedback. -; I need moral support, you guys. Lol. Again, a different type of writing that I'm experimenting with … and it was certainly long. :O Was it also dull-; Thank you so much for bearing through all of it if it was. -; Yours, Angel.


	2. Chapter 1: Spring

Disclaimer: Don't own either.

_Warnings: A bit of disrespect, stereotyping, and general cynicism. Lime and language mixed into this martini. Enjoy._

_It's a bit long. Quite a bit long. That's what makes me nervous about it. --; Knowing my own short attention span … please be patient with me! I think it gets better towards the end but maybe that's just a biased perception. --; Again, please bear with me and we'll get through this together. :)_

_Everything Golden_

_Chapter 1: Spring_

_.angelight._

…

_Nature's first green is gold,_

_Her hardest hue to hold._

_Robert Frost_

…

**Usagi's apartment**

**The South Bronx**

**New York, NY**

**11:00 a.m.**

…

Sometimes he wondered if he thought her special the instant that he met her but mostly had to say no. He had thought her beautiful, but beauty was fleeting and the most distinctive thing he could ever draw up of that moment from memory was that she had snubbed him. And those that stood between him and his money were not termed _special_; they were called _dead_.

But back when the events were still unraveling, on the second day that he was to talk to this girl named Usagi, he still recalled her beauty vividly as if her image were carved deeply into his retinas, deeply enough to make him spend a night thinking about her before heading out the next morning in the brisk early-spring weather of NYC.

He hadn't been impressed by the apartment. When he got to the stairs he wondered if he should have instead called Helen down to meet him so they could go back to Manhattan and get a _real_ apartment. And then he could order this place made of toothpicks to be burned down. And then resurrected and burned down again.

A crabby-looking old woman stuck her head out to see who'd just entered her building. She stared at him, croaked once, and withdrew her head. In retrospect, he wondered if he'd only imagined that she was a lady when really she'd been a bullfrog.

Hiiro took a deep breath and ran up the stairs. If he fell and died, would Milliardo mourn over the lost money? Or would he say, _Well, there's more where that came from!_ and go out to find some anonymous Calvin Klein underwear model?

He didn't fall and almost felt a little disappointed at not being able to see Milliardo's face when he found out. Instead, Hiiro had to walk down a narrow hallway to the last door on the right. He hunched his shoulders and tried not to touch the fungus – or whatever it was – hugging the walls. Before he could knock, the door swung open, (thank God) and he was greeted by the proverbial diamond in the rough. She smiled a little at the undoubtedly disgusted look on his face and took in his casual two hundred dollar jeans and Polo pullover.

"Welcome to the Ritz Hotel. What can I do for you, sir?"

He winced and peered into her room with the face of a sinner about to meet Satan, his beautiful mouth, surprisingly mobile, curling downwards in haughty distaste. "Tsukino … you need to move."

"Me?" She looked startled as if she actually believed her apartment _was_ the Ritz Hotel.

"_We_." Oui or we? She should know by now that he thought Frenchmen were a bunch of effete sissies and that he would never perfume his mouth with their language. But she didn't, and so he clarified, "_We_ need to move."

Helen – Usagi – stepped back a pace and closed the door a little, looking down at the yellowing linoleum. "Sorry, buddy, but I can't afford anywhere else. If you don't want to room with me, I under-"

"_I_ can afford somewhere else." _Just so long as I rescue _one person _from this pit of hell. _She arched her brow and gripped the door tighter as if readying herself to slam it in his face.

"Good for you. I'll see you in class then?" Her arching tone grated his nerves, and he had some trouble keeping himself from growling and shaking her by the shoulders until she was limp.

"Come with me. I know a place that is cheap and comfortable." The word cheap tasted dirty in his mouth; he knew no such place. So he decided to improvise. "But first let me make a call." A pause as she looked at him with one hand on her hip, apparently waiting. "Outside." Away from the fungus. She seemed to understand.

"Bye, Bernie, I'm leaving!" There was a muffled answer that sounded somewhere between a groan and a wail. Hiiro frowned crossly into the room. What was Bernie, some pet dinosaur she kept?

Usagi followed him but shot an uncertain look back at the closed door of her apartment. Hiiro couldn't understand why she would ever want to return once she left, but, Hiiro reasoned with himself, some people were just strange like that.

They braved the stairs together. Hiiro wondered if perhaps he should be a gentleman and offer to carry her downstairs but was careful to keep his mouth shut. After all, there was no need losing two lives at once. If he died, he'd die alone, bitter and beside a girl who didn't have two dimes to rub together for heat.

When they passed the hallway on the ground floor, the old toad peeked out and croaked again. He was pretty sure she was an amphibian this time. And then – fresh air and colors other than yellow once more. He flipped his cell phone open and phoned the seventh number on his phone book while Usagi wandered around and stared at him with a perplexed look. He turned away and started muttering into the phone. Charlene yelled at him twice to speak up, but he never did and she didn't seem to mind; he knew she liked hearing the sound of his voice because she readily matched it with his face and that alone made it beautiful.

"…Yeah, yeah thanks. You know how to access my account." He hung up, turned back around, and saw Usagi staring at his Bentley.

"Hey, pal, nice car. It makes me wonder…"

He reached her in fewer than five strides and unlocked the car, berating himself for not thinking of renting some beat-up car and buying discount clothing. Not. "Don't. Get in," he ordered darkly and shot her an intense glare.

Despite that the roof was down, the convertible smelled of his cologne. It was ingrained in the leather and made her uncomfortable as if she were in a purely male environment. "Are you as rich as Quatre?" It was a rude question, but she didn't really care at that point. Usagi was busy being overwhelmed by the testosterone around her.

He turned to back out of the parking spot on the side of the street, murmuring, "Probably not. I just consider consumption my religion."

Usagi laughed a little as they accelerated to some number way over the speed limit. "So why are you rooming with me: dirt-poor, small-town girl?"

He didn't say anything for a while, his graceful hands resting casually on the steering wheel.

"Oh, don't tell me you feel sorry for me. I've had enough of that my life." She rolled her sapphire eyes heavenward and then turned to look at the passing apartment complexes to her right. She was getting so used to the cologne that she almost didn't notice it anymore; it was as much comforting as unsettling.

"I don't feel sorry for anybody," he clipped. It was the truth. He'd spent his life preoccupied with feeling sorry for himself.

Usagi turned back and grinned at his profile. "Good." He didn't answer or attempt a new conversation so she sighed and asked, "Where're we headed?"

"Manhattan."

Her eyes widened as they skidded to a stop at a signal light. She tightened her shoulders as if mentally expecting a car to rear-end them and then blinked in awe as if surprised it hadn't. "You expect me to afford Manhattan?"

"I expect you to trust me," he retorted silkily and turned to glare at her but faltered at the sight of her eyes. He believed they were termed sunburst eyes with rings of different shades of blue that made them look as if they were sparkling all too vividly. Usagi looked down first, a perfect expression to show off incredibly long and curled eyelashes. He drew in a painful breath of air and reminded himself that he'd spent seven years of his life already surrounded by women just like her. She blushed – Helen blushed. Of all things to do, this girl blushed. It was so tender and unpretentious a gesture that he almost didn't dare think about it.

"You know what? I think I'll give it a shot," she sighed and looked up, the corners of her eyes crinkling slightly in a soft smile, the aftereffects of her blush still clinging to her cheeks like the setting sun. The light turned green, and the car behind him honked once, long and drawn-out, but he didn't reciprocate it with the universal sign of displeasure – the finger – and instead accelerated with both eyes glued to the road so he didn't have to turn, look at her, and be tempted.

"Trusting me?"

"Mmm." The hum of a smile colored her response rose, and she sounded as if she were closing her eyes and enjoying Belgian chocolate … or a Belgian lover. Maybe he should have been born Belgian.

He cleared his throat and tried to smooth the wrinkles out of his tone. "First we should get you some clothes."

"And what am I wearing right now?" Again, a smile was present in her answer.

_No comment_. "What you're wearing is worse than wearing nothing."

She laughed outright this time and teased, "I bet you'd like that."

Hiiro didn't reply, just gripped the steering wheel tighter. He pulled up to the parking meter and set it as Usagi stared up and her jaw dropped. **1**

She let go of a low whistle as she stepped out of the car and whispered, "Welcome to Barney's, Miss Usagi Tsukino."

Hiiro glanced at her and smirked. Even she had to admit it was sexy.

…

**Barney's**

**660 Madison Avenue at 61st St.**

**New York, NY**

**11:48 a.m.**

…

"Isn't this a bit risqué?" Usagi peeked out of the dressing room and peered at Hiiro who had long since ordered the fawning salesperson to get lost. Biting her lower lip, she stepped out and turned once when Hiiro motioned for her to.

The Versace white tank top she wore was technically only half a tank top because only half of it existed. The back was nothing more than the crossed lacings of a chiffon ribbon that dribbled from her shoulders to her waist and then up again until it ended in a messy half-bow that drooped casually. With it, the sales associate had paired a pink, flouncy and flowered Escada skirt of sheer silk with a shift of satin.

"You didn't tell me you were dirt poor, small town, _and_ conservative."

Usagi scowled, color rising on her cheeks, and started, "Just because I have morals—"

"I'm the one paying for it so don't I get to choose?" he drawled, and Usagi blanched. She gazed at him while continuing to bite her lip. He kept a careful hold on his wandering mind, but it was hard to ignore that the girl had legs.

"I didn't beg for your charity. I'll pay you back eventually. I'm keeping strict accounts." She shook a finger at him and nodded with a solemn expression. After another six months she could perhaps save enough for that one outfit, but even the thought of her paying him back seemed laughable if sweet.

Hiiro raised a skeptic eyebrow and furrowed his brow half in mockery and half in all earnestness. "You're putting the weight of Barney's on _your_ salary?"

She bristled, and he fought back a chuckle, prolonging the conversation just to sunbathe in the sight of her in that outfit. "I need something nice every once in a while."

He sighed and pretended to look bored. "You sound like you belong in a nursing home."

There was a pause and then a quiet "Maybe I do." Hiiro started and looked up at her from his sitting position, but she was turned from him, eyeing her somber expression in the convenient mirror. Her eyes met his in the reflection, but she didn't say anything to clarify. Maybe this was one of those common people jokes. Maybe she was waiting for him to say, _Ha! You belong in a nursing home? Me too!_ But Hiiro didn't do jokes, especially not _common_ jokes. So instead, he opted for a tactful change of subject that was a little weak on the tact.

"So," he cleared his throat and rested his elbows on his legs, hunching his shoulders to accommodate the position, "do I get to choose?"

She sighed and turned to glare at him. "Fine, Mr. Fashionable."

He didn't budge and pointed to a yonder point. "That should be good. And that. And that." She shot him an exasperated look and stomped over to where he pointed to ferry the objects of clothing over. He eyed her as she returned to glare some more at him and waved his hand in a flicking motion to shoo her into the fitting room.

"What, nothing lacy and see-through?"

Hiiro raised a wicked eyebrow and retorted, "Do you _want_ something lacy and see-through? Because I can arrange that, too." He was sure that'd look good on her. Even the Versace and Escada earlier, despite being not quite her style, looked good on her, but women were picky and if she didn't like it, he didn't want to hear about it all the way to the apartment in the car. Usagi seemed to admit defeat by hmphing once and turning to disappear into the fitting room.

Five minutes later, she came out with an awed look. "You've got to be either gay or metro. Why don't you just admit right now that you carry peach-scented hand lotion in your man-bag?" She giggled a bit and this time twirled once without his having to motion and struck a pose. "It's perfect." She was a natural.

He pocketed away in his mind that she had an inclination for casual and simple. The outfit was of Gucci's spring/summer women's cruise line, one that he was particularly familiar with because Caroline Ribeiro had modeled it and had flaunted herself by twirling for him much like how Usagi had just done. Except Usagi was so much softer in it, not all muscle and steel and flashing platinum. Usagi accentuated the innocent femininity of the ivory fine cashmere wrap tank under the rose-colored sandalwood stretch silk twill fold collared jacket matched with the fango shiny jersey plaited skirt. She was all cream and rosebuds. **2 **

It took him a minute to find his voice, and when he did, it came out too hoarse and husky for his taste. "I've had experience."

"Do you wine and dine a girl every other day?" she teased while smiling. Her face blossomed to something even more endearing with that smile.

"Only the pretty ones." She looked up at him in the mirror and seemed ready to laugh. "You're an exception," he added, and that burgeoning laugh turned into a mock frown. She kept the outfit on, and the sales associate came over to clip the tags. The lady knew him already and knew to charge it to his account.

"Y'know, I've gotten a _lot_ of offers to be a model."

"Right." He sighed and with one hand on the top of her head guided her out of the store. She snatched at his hand and scowled up at him.

"I have!"

"Hn."

She slid into the car seat, leaned back, and groaned. "At this point you're supposed to say _baby, you sound sexy when you make that noise._"

"Baby, you sound sexy when you make that noise," he repeated mechanically while maneuvering out of the parking spot. She'll never know how much he meant it.

…

**172 West 79th Street, Apartment 11-A**

**Upper West Side, Manhattan **

**New York, NY**

**12:05 p.m.**

…

"What devil did you sell your soul to to afford this, Hiiro?"

Instead of stepping around her immobile figure, he grabbed her by the shoulders and jostled her aside in order to get to the entrance, muttering, "I have connections," as he passed. He murmured something to the doorman while glancing surreptitiously back at her to check that she was still gaping at the hotel's façade like an imbecile.

"Don't worry. I believe you." She grinned as she skipped up to him. He shot her a cool glance. Maybe she'll get the hint and stop acting like some girl from some unnamed town in Tennessee where the population was three plus a dog.

"I don't worry," he told her deliberately, enunciating each word to engrain it in her mind. Nobody ever doubted him when he used that tone of voice, not even Relena with her _you've got to open yourself to me_ attitude. If he told her that Milliardo shaved his head and had meaningful conversations with fruits five times a day – the conversations with the fruits, no the shaving of his head – in that tone of voice, she would've believed him.

Usagi rolled her eyes at him as they entered the apartment complex. "Right and chickens have puppies. You're the most self-absorbed male that I know, Hiiro. You're even worse than Duo." She wrinkled her nose. He bristled and came to a dead stop, turning to face her.

"Self-absorbed?" he murmured darkly.

She didn't even glance at him and pressed the up button for the elevator. It came in an instant, and they entered. "Yeah except you express it differently. Like this apartment complex. It is absolutely gorgeous and situated in Manhattan, and yet you're telling me that fifty percent of the cost is five hundred dollars? I don't think so, pal."

Okay, so maybe he stretched the truth a little. It was all out of concern – he didn't want her to refuse. Because then he'd have to live in an apartment that housed a toad on the first floor and fungus on the fourth. And fungus didn't really excite him.

They exited the elevator, and he led her to the right door. So it was a three bedroom apartment. Did they need three bedrooms? Of course they did. He couldn't sleep in the same room every day; it was unhealthy. And maybe Usagi would decide to bring her pet dinosaur, Bernie, over. Hiiro was pretty sure he wanted Bernie to have his own room.

The apartment complex was a full service, post war building with two doormen, valet and two, twenty-four hour concierges, on the two entrances – south and north. There was a garage, a bicycle room and a common storage room. The building had a 15,000 square feet, private membership health club, with a twenty by forty feet, heated pool, roof deck, and dining room – a lounge for personal entertaining and socializing. Pets were allowed, but Hiiro was careful not to mention that to Usagi.

It had marble and hardwood floors – no carpet. He disliked carpet. And it had abundant closets. For Usagi, of course. He usually refused the free clothes from shoots and runway shows, but the amount that he had amassed was spread evenly around NYC in various apartments he maintained. The apartment had two full baths, a large living room, a dining room, a pass through kitchen, and a powder room. What was a powder room? He'd thought maybe Usagi would know, but considering that a moment ago she'd been staring at the building as if she'd never seen one so tall, he was a little worried that he thought a little too highly of her.

There was a magnificent Hudson River and city view and sliding windows in every room. Plus, there was a laundry room on each and every floor. After all, he didn't want to have to carry laundry on the elevator down all forty-three floors. If he did, he might as well throw any dirty laundry out the window instead of washing.

"Why the hell would I lie to you?" If he were any other person, his voice would have shaken. But he was Hiiro Yui, and that voice was as smooth as glass, as charming as a cobra about to strike.

"Because you think that _my_ old apartment is below you. It's not part of your _appearance_." She paused and turned to glare up at him. "Well, maybe _I'm _not part of your appearance."

"It's below human beings," he insisted, enjoying the beige, burgundy, and taupe color scheme of the condominium.

"Don't be an ass, Hiiro. Everybody has to live somehow." She wasn't meeting his eyes, instead scanning the spacious bathroom with the hue of grudging admiration in her expression.

"Nobody should have to live like that." He walked out and peered out the window. It slid open easily and from the forty-third floor he could hear muted sounds of honking cars and the general bustle of the city. He leaned onto the sill and looked down, pondering the number of homeless people tucked away underground at subway stations, away from the haughty eyes of big-shot CEOs like Milliardo. Of people like himself. New York was a wondrously succulent pair of lips with vomit barely contained within.

Usagi slid the window open a little further and nudged him aside to lean next to him, sighing, "That's what every rich person I know says. But do they do anything? Nobody does anything. Except Quatre and Quatre's just Quatre." He got up and backed away from the faint warmness of her body so close to his as if suddenly disgusted with himself.

"And how many rich people would a dirt poor, small-town girl know?" His voice was hard and wintry, laced with dark laughter but little if any teasing frivolity. Usagi looked up, and he imagined he saw surprise in her eyes as if she too just recalled the wall of paper money that stood between them, a wall reaching as high as Olympus, standing as impassable as Berlin's.

She smiled a little, almost bitterly. "Well _you're_ one of them. Oh, don't give me that look. You're so obvious. Just look at the way you dress! All Armanis and Ralph Laurens and Hugo Bosses. You think you're blending in, buddy? You belong on Fifth Avenue, and yet here you are checking out this apartment with _me_ ten minutes away from Fifth, and you think you can pass for poor!"

He glanced down at himself a little self-consciously and asked, "I don't blend in?"

Usagi sighed, rolled her eyes, and turned to pat him on the shoulder as if offering defeated solace. "No, you don't, Hiiro Self-absorbed Yui. And I blend in even less. I don't even belong in New York. I got to go, pal. See you around school."

"Wait." He strode to catch up with her departing form, his sudden footsteps loud and echoing in the empty apartment. He didn't want to live there alone with all three bedrooms and two baths to himself. "Wait. Please." The words poured out like foul slime before he could stop them. They were soft and pliant and utterly revolting to his ears. But he wanted her to stay. Wanted her and her pet Bernie if she must, as if they'd be some kind of perverse family. He curtailed his nightmarish thoughts there. "Stay with me here for one month. If you don't like it, you can leave after. You don't have to pay anything."

Her eyes narrowed. "I don't accept handouts, Hiiro."

He scowled at her. "Okay fine. You want to pay for fifty percent of this apartment? You can pay for fifty percent. Why don't you just deposit 2500 dollars right here right now." **3 **

"That's the point!" She threw her hands up in the air and shot the still open window an exasperated look. "I'm not _you_, Hiiro. I can't afford this! So why am I wasting my time here when I have a perfectly decent apartment in the Bronx?"

"Don't feed me that bullshit!" Looking back, he could remember this as the first time he'd ever yelled at her.

"It's better than living on the streets!" And the first time she'd ever yelled at him.

He stopped short and took a deep breath; she looked up at him with her brow furrowed. "Maybe," he started quietly this time, "but I'm standing right here in front of you. Look at me. I'm real. And I'm offering to help you. But you're too proud to accept it. Now, whose fault is that?" His voice died in a whisper as he grabbed her shoulders and turned her to face him fully, to confront this fiendish sham of dark hair, wild eyes, and seamless skin without abashment.

"That's not the point! Have you ever lived on the streets before!"

"Yes, I have."

Helen looked stunned and quickly looked away, but he saw the shuddering breath she took and the trembling of her lower lip. He hated it when women cried; it made him want to shy away with revulsion.

Instead, he stepped in and tried to catch her gaze. "Look all I'm asking for is a month. I'm not asking you to sleep with me."

She shot him a wry smile. "Unless I want to?"

"For a fee," he shot back with little mirth.

She laughed anyway. "A month is a long time."

"You're, what, twenty-two. I think you'll survive a month."

"Yeah…twenty-two…" She looked like she wanted to say more but instead bit her lip and gulped it back down as if it were self-imposed poison.

He relaxed his shoulders, shifted, and smiled indistinctly at her. "Come on. I'll treat you to lunch."

…

**Jean Georges**

**1 Central Park West**

**between**** 60th and 61st Sts.**

**Upper West Side, Manhattan **

**New York, NY**

**1:30 p.m.**

…

Menstruation. That was the cause of all problems. The power went out? It's because of menstruation. The milk spoiled? It was that time of month. Helen was looking at him with a most mistrustful look when just moments ago she'd said she would trust him? Definitely menstruation.

"Why did you bring me here?"

He shrugged. "This place looked nice." It was more than nice. It was Columbus Circle, the lobby level of Donald Trump's International Hotel and Tower, part of the very small circle of NYC's four star restaurants.

"_Too_ nice."

"There's good food." He leaned over and muttered to the maitre'd who nodded without letting the small, civil and benign smile slide off his face. _He_ seemed to appreciate Usagi's outfit of Gucci though the blonde herself still picked at it and glanced wondrously down at herself every once in awhile. Every once in awhile as in _a bit too often_.

"Of course, sir."

The elderly, refined man led the two to a corner table surrounded on two sides by floor to ceiling windows overlooking Central Park. The soothing palette of taupe, ecru and silver enveloped them and made Jean Georges feel like a surprisingly felicitous marriage of a tender sun and a timid moon.

"Why here?" He could almost taste her hesitation before she sat down and allowed him to push the chair in.

"It's more private."

She smiled a little. "What, are you going to seduce me?"

"Only if you want me to." He reached over and placed a warm hand over hers teasingly. She glanced at the gesture then up at him and then down again before snatching her hand away, scowling.

"In your dreams, pal."

He shrugged. "Your loss." There was a flash in her eyes that told him for a moment she'd agreed with him, but she quickly changed the subject.

"Did you make reservations?"

"I tipped him." Hiiro raised both eyebrows at her wide-eyed stare. "It's not that hard to get reservations here. It's an elitist restaurant. For the epicure."

She was still staring at him with wide-eyed fear as if he'd just told her they served old ladies and puppies here. "S-so what's good here?"

"Everything." The answer was definitive.

"Yeah, thanks. I bet the water's just delicious." She made a face at him and looked down again at the menu.

"I don't think they serve plain water," he rejoined, looking thoughtful for a moment before pulling the corners of his mouth down in a _who knows?_ expression.

She was silent for a moment, staring blankly down at her menu. He noted with a certain light of amusement that her menu was upside down. "I don't read French," Usagi finally sighed and pushed it away. He'd been waiting for that.

"Neither do I. But I recommend the asparagus with morels au jus, the sweetbreads en cocotte, or the spice-crusted striped bass." **4**

Her eyes darkened. "You've been here before."

"Of course," he murmured easily, leaning back in his seat. "I wouldn't take a creature such as yourself into unfamiliar territory." It sounded awfully wolfish, and he took a moment to mentally frown at himself before turning his attention to the solicitous waiter shadowing over them as if about to strike.

Usagi glanced up at waiter who'd just swept a basket of complimentary bread onto the table, and smiled. "I'll take the sweetbreads en cocette."

"The striped bass."

The gentleman made quick checkmarks and looked back at them. "Would the madam and sir prefer wine now?"

Hiiro looked askance at Usagi and arched an eyebrow. She shook her head no. "Just water then," he told the waiter who shot them both a strange look but managed to walk away without being snide. Personally, Hiiro wanted alcohol, but if Usagi wasn't interested, he could abstain … until later that day.

Usagi cleared her throat and leaned forward in her seat as if interested to learn more about him. He knew she wasn't; she was just uncomfortable in the silence. "So, Hiiro, what college do you go to? Columbia?"

He stared at her in slight bemusement. "No, NYU. I was in your class just yesterday."

"Oh, really." Her eyes dropped down to her clasped hands, and she bit her lower lip, her brow furrowed. She looked up at him and attempted a smile that was probably as real as the famous talent scout Trowa Barton's hair. "Well I thought with _your _kind of money you could just buy your way into Columbia." It was obvious she was trying to sound unconcerned and breezy, but he wasn't entirely convinced. Neither was he about to call her bluff.

"I probably could." _But instead I had to follow _you

The same waiter from earlier came back with a slightly peevish look on his face and two dishes. He set Usagi's dish in front of her and proceeded to sprinkle diced baby carrots, ginger, and liquorice onto it. Doing the same with Hiiro's, he applied wilted spinach and pistachio oil. The aroma of fresh, unadulterated food filled the air, and Usagi closed her eyes briefly to savor it. Hiiro decided he couldn't abstain. Before the waiter bowed himself away, Hiiro made a motion for him to stop.

"On second thought, I'd like a bottle of Chateau Pierre-Bise Chaume and two glasses."

The waiter looked halfway between delighted and surprised, an excellent medication for his features which by nature left something to be desired. "You have superb taste, sir."

Usagi glanced up at him and looked annoyed. "I don't like to drink wine."

"You'll like it. It tastes like honey, butter, toffee, and quince mixed with acid."

"Sounds like you."

He raised his eyebrows, and she blushed when she realized what she'd said. "Sorry, that was unintentional."

"I don't know whether to be flattered or appalled," he drawled, eyebrows still arched.

She frowned at her food and sighed. "I wonder if that man washed his hands."

Hiiro looked halfway between amused and irritated. "If you don't want it, I'll take it."

"What, so you can get fatter?"

"Do I look fat to you?" The obvious answer was good heavens, no!

"Fatty." She smiled into her water.

"Excuse me?" His voice was a delightful mix of playfulness and resentment, of honey and acid.

"I called you Fatty," she giggled, her eyes wide with feigned innocence. "Fatty, Fatty, Fatty."

"Shut up."

She was silent but couldn't keep the grin off her face, glancing up at his steady, unblinking glare occasionally as if to check if he were still breathing. Then, propping her head up with one hand slightly covering her mouth, she murmured, "Fatty."

He threw his water at her face and then settled back down nonchalantly to pick at his bass. She stared at him in shock for two whole seconds before cracking up. "You _paid_ for this, Hiiro!"

"You look better with it wet," he assured her without looking up.

"With it wet and see-through?"

He couldn't help but glance up once but quickly averted his eyes. She started laughing again.

"I do hope you won't do the same with the wine, sir," the waiter said with the hint of a smile in his words.

"No, she's not worth the wine," he retorted with the slightest injection of sarcastic wistfulness in his tone. Usagi's jaw dropped.

Then, in a soft and serious I-see-dead-people tone, she told the waiter with mock sorrow, "It's because he swings the other way, if you know what I mean."

Hiiro blinked a couple of times and pushed his dish away. "I'm not hungry anymore."

The waiter bowed himself away. Usagi watched him go and heard him mutter to a fellow waiter, "Rich newlyweds. Aren't they revolting?"

"Like rabbits," the other uniformed man replied. Hiiro was watching her when she turned back, and though he too had heard the exchange, he followed her example in failing to acknowledge it.

"I'm not that hungry, either," she sighed and put her utensils down. "So how much was my share or do I not want to know?"

He shrugged and reached for his wallet. "You don't want to know, but it's not too bad. Now, if we came here for _dinner_, that's another matter." When he looked up again, she was frowning and digging through her purse. "What are you doing?"

"I was just wondering where my car keys were…" she muttered, resorting to the habit of biting her lip again.

"We drove here in my car."

She stopped short and looked up as if she'd just remembered. Instead she brushed it off and replied, "Oh. Well, I still need them to get into my apartment."

"Don't go back there. I'll replace everything you have."

"You're treating me like a mistress.," she retorted, a skeptic eyebrow raised.

He lifted a casual shoulder and gazed at her with half-lowered eyelids. "Well, if you insist."

She looked ready to retort but…

"Hiiro! Darling!" Hiiro, the darling, cringed and tried to duck behind the bottle of wine. Times like these he envied ostriches.

Relena Darlian with her perfectly coiffed, golden hair, high cheekbones, and I-just-had-mind-blowing-sex-at-Tiffany's glow sashayed up to their table with a smile big enough to shame Alaska. "What are you doing here?" she semi-squealed before seeing Usagi and letting go of a dramatic gasp. "And who is this delicious creature?" Hiiro looked up and managed a small smile at both her and the tall, well-groomed man behind her.

"Hiiro." Trowa nodded to him in greeting, a casual hand resting at Relena's waist. Even Hiiro had to admit to an amount of jealousy at the sight of their obvious intimacy; it was like admitting he was male.

"Trowa. Relena," he replied. Relena leaned down and planted faux-kisses on either side of his face. Trowa abstained from doing the same. Hiiro shot Usagi a quick glance and noted that she was twisting permanent wrinkles into her napkin.

"Oh, Hiiro, is this Helen?" He shot Relena an uncomfortable glare and shifted a little in his seat. Milliardo must've told her. Usagi's face drained of all color, and she bit her lip as Relena turned to eye her with patent but not rude – never rude – curiosity. .

"I'm Usagi Tsukino." She forced a smile and stuck out her hand with a beguiling force of confidence. Relena beamed, brushed it aside, and kissed her on both her cheeks also. Trowa took Usagi's flustered state as an opportunity to kiss her hand. Hiiro scowled at him.

"I am absolutely delighted to meet you, Miss Tsukino," Relena gushed, eyes sparkling as brightly as her Tiffany's tennis bracelet. "Is she the new one, Hiiro?"

He cleared his throat and swallowed, his prominent Adam's apple moving up and then back down. Hiiro was almost as famous for his Adam's apple as Mickey Mouse was famous for his ears; its prominence spoke of untamed masculinity. "No, she's just a classmate of mine."

Relena blinked her pretty, sky-colored eyes. "I didn't know you were taking cla-"

"Come on, Relena. We have an appointment." Hiiro looked at Trowa with awe and grudging thanks present behind his gaze. The man was too damn observant for his own good. Trowa's eyes, however, were focused on Usagi.

Relena didn't seem to realize the tension or if she did, she chose to mollify it. "Oh, yes, I'm getting a dress for Quatre's spring charity ball. Frida Giannini is _such_ a _doll_. She flew in just to see me." **5**

Wonderful. Hiiro wondered if he was supposed to congratulate her for being rich and pampered.

"It was good seeing you, Hiiro! Come visit sometime – and send my love to Millie! And that new Mediterranean restaurant in SoHo – do yourself a favor and don't go there. It's _la merde_." Trowa was pulling her away so she started speaking more and more quickly. **6**

"A pleasure meeting you, Miss Usagi," Trowa murmured and bent to kiss her hand again before pulling a prattling Relena out of the restaurant.

Silence placed a shroud over the table, and Hiiro, after a moment of sitting idly, remembered the wine. He reached over and poured it until each glass was half-full and held one up for Usagi. She ignored it.

"So, Hiiro, am I the new one?" Her tone was startlingly acerbic.

He looked aside and set the glass down, muttering, "What're you talking about?"

"You heard Miss Relena. Am I your new toy? A replacement for Helen?" Hiiro sipped his wine and turned to view Central Park – the preppy NYU students playing touch football, the rich old ladies walking their tiny dogs, the film students from Columbia trying to create Kafka-esque films using park benches…

"You're not a toy," he replied in monotone, not turning back to meet her eyes; it was as if he was speaking to the .window.

"Who's Helen?" she pressed.

"There is no Helen," he snapped, turning back to her and downing the rest of his wine before moving to pour another half-cup.

"When in trouble deny everything, right?" She smiled a little but not happily and finally reached for her own cup to gulp at.

"Righ-no." Was the alcohol getting to his head? No, of course not. He was a natural at holding his liquor.

She laughed, again, not happily.

Hiiro sighed and turned back to meet her eyes, leaning forward slightly. "Please, listen to me. There was no Helen. And you're not a new toy because I'm not interested in going to bed with you. We're friends." He felt like a teletubby saying that. The purple one. Yeah, Tinky Winky. **7**

She didn't say anything for a while, continuing to sip her wine with faint appreciation.

Finally, she smiled a sad little smile and replied, "Okay."

"Let's go."

She nodded but didn't meet his eyes or smile even when he pushed her forward playfully by her head.

…

**Bungalow 8**

**515 W. 27th St.**

**between**** 10th and 11th Aves.**

**Chelsea, Manhattan **

**New York, NY**

**11:45 p.m.**

…

Scenester Amy Sacco had intended to invoke memories of old Hollywood and the Beverly Hills Hotel in the name and décor of Bungalow 8; there were palm trees, a concierge, and a NO VACANCY sign that glared out into the night.

Hiiro had bypassed the over-sized booths downstairs and headed up to the VIP bar after flashing the doorman a dark glare and muttering his name. Prinz eyed him uneasily but managed a grunt and a thuggish smile before waving him past; they knew each other quite well though even Prinz couldn't think of a time when Hiiro Yui was more harassed-looking. He must've been stressed out because he hadn't even bothered to dress up.

Fifteen minutes of quiet solitude, two Valentinos, and one Bacardi later, his evening was ruined by the advent of a very unfortunately blond head in the VIP lounge. He tried to turn away and hide behind his hand but locked eyes with Robert De Niro who smiled and nodded at him. With those two, simple gestures, Hiiro was doomed to his fate.

"I figured you'd be here, Hiiro."

The addressee looked up and sighed, defeat weighing so heavily upon his tongue that it almost overwhelmed the aftertaste of the Bacardi. "Quatre Winner."

The blond didn't smile, baby blue eyes containing a strange glint of steel, before sitting down. "Couldn't stand spending so little money in one day?"

"That's not the case at all." He settled for glaring at his drink since no sane man with any ambition to be rich and stay rich glared at Quatre Winner.

"Just a champagne, please." Quatre smiled at the bartender, but that smile speedily faded away to ice and gloom when he turned back to Hiiro. He was starting out with champagne instead of a more relaxed, more popular, and more effervescent Valentino or watermelon martini; this didn't bode well for Hiiro's evening.

"So why did you lie to Usagi?" his voice sounded pleasantly nonchalant, like the gentle lap of ocean waves before a tsunami hit. When Hiiro didn't reply, the blond laughed a little and nudged him. "Come on. No use in hiding it now. I knew you the instant I laid eyes on you." **8**

"If I told her the truth, I'd hurt her," he finally muttered though it was difficult to translate all of his dark intentions into sweet euphemisms. Quatre's usually genteel countenance darkened into a scowl before he gulped at his champagne.

"Bastard. Where'd you take her?"

Hiiro shrugged. "Upper west side. We ate. Dropped her off for her afternoon classes."

"You're not even supposed to be in college. Did you bribe them?"

Hiiro glanced up at his blond companion and smirked. "You know me well."

Quatre's cerulean irises clouded into a stormier, steelier azure as his mouth curled down in exquisite disgust. "Did you fuck her?"

"Usagi?" Hiiro sneered a little into his drink; this was bound to get a rise out of his conversant.

Quatre's flute of champagne shattered in his hands, and his eyes looked almost navy until he tilted his head back slightly and they caught the light, flashing an unearthly silver. The bartender hurried over to clean up the mess and offered to remedy the blond's semi-deep cut across the lifeline on his left hand; Quatre waved him away impatiently; three incarnadine drops fell solemnly onto the bar. "No. The girl you bribed."

"Maybe it was a guy."

His eyes narrowed. "Don't lie."

Hiiro sighed. "No, I didn't. I gave her ten thousand dollars. Are you happy, big brother?"

"No. Leave Usagi alone."

"For such a little guy surviving on Daddy's bank account, you sure are making big demands," he sniped and turned to order champagne to match Quatre's. The blond's cheeks flushed a little though Hiiro couldn't tell if from mortification or anger; he seemed unable to come up with an expletive creative or potent enough to stab Hiiro in the gut and slice out his liver so Hiiro continued, "What's between Usagi and me is none of your business."

Quatre drew in a lungful of air before letting it out little by little; the rose staining his cheeks faded and so did the stark white at his knuckles. "Tell me why you're targeting her. I know she's pretty but – oh, God. Is Zechs out to get her?" His eyes were wide with realization.

There was silence between the two punctuated only by the deejayed music from downstairs. In it, Hiiro muttered, "Shit."

Quatre's eyes went from incensed to panicked. "Oh, God. You can't let him get her, Hiiro! If there's any heart left in you, you won't do it!"

"So what about me? Am I just necessary fodder for Milliardo?" he snarled in reply. The blond had the decency to look guilty.

"No, but … well, anything's better than where you were before. But Usagi … Usagi has a _family_. You can't make her a sex symbol." Hiiro arched an eyebrow. Was that what others saw him as? A sex symbol?

"I'll do whatever I damn well please, you son of a bitch," he murmured and sipped his champagne, not at all delighting in its taste and texture.

"Keep the testosterone down, will you?" Quatre scowled before turning to the bartender, this time not managing a smile. "Another one, please." He turned back to his date before the bartender had even nodded in reply. "Don't do it to her, Hiiro. She doesn't deserve it. It doesn't suit her."

"Have you noticed that she is gorgeous?"

"Am I male?" Quatre retorted.

"I've always wondered." The corners of his mouth pulled down as he shrugged.

"Shut up."

"She needed money desperately. Have you ever been to her apartment?" He pushed his champagne aside; it was making him nauseous.

Quatre's brow furrowed, and a sorrowful nymph laid to doze on the delicate curve of his lips. "…No. She never let me."

Hiiro's gaze was unrelenting. "You should have known. That place is inhumane. You should've helped her."

The nymph fled and an irate diablo replaced it. "And where were you, Hiiro? Banging the daylights out of Gisele?"

His stomach churned; the champagne felt awful when coupled with that mental image. "That's sick."

"You're sick," the blond snapped and downed the remains of his drink. "Leave Usagi alone. You're _nothing_, Hiiro, compared to me. I can unmake you. I can take all of your fortune away." He stood and towered over Hiiro.

"I'm _nothing _compared to your _father._ I'm not afraid of _you_."

His blue eyes narrowed in as much a sneer as cordial Quatre Winner could muster. "Of course you're not." And he left, his staccato footsteps banging out a quiet rhythm on the stairs that was eventually drowned out by Usher from downstairs. Robert glanced over from his right and looked away; even he didn't want to tango with Quatre Winner.

…

**Dusk Lounge**

**147 W. 24th St. **

**between**** Sixth and Seventh Aves.**

**Chelsea, Manhattan**

**New York, NY**

**1:10 a.m.**

…

Hidden behind a dull, signless storefront on a nondescript Chelsea block, Dusk was easy to miss which was exactly the reason why it was a temporary sanctuary to Hiiro Yui, not at all a frequent customer but a highly appreciated one nevertheless; nobody made any sign of recognizing him which was just the way he wanted it at the moment.

Inside, the sleek, dark and sexy lounge felt like the time of day it was named after: slightly disorienting and full of possibilities. In the front, there was a mirror-mosaic on the wall, and a pool table was surrounded by couches and stools. The dim, inviting back half was lit only from back-lighted bottles at the impressively long bar. Most important was the illicit speakeasy vibe which drew Hiiro to Dusk, despite that Bungalow 8 was just about to go into party mode; he felt smug with the happy knowledge that Quatre would never think to look for him here.

It was late, and he'd strayed away from the lighter, fruitier drinks to opt for a more luxurious Chartreuse that, seeing the bartender's surprised face, was clearly not ordered often. So, with drink in hand and legs splayed casually, Hiiro lounged, ignoring that his hair as well as the shirt he wore under his blazer was wilting at an alarming rate and hoping to God that he blended well enough with the dark that nobody would bother him. Thankfully, nobody'd glanced twice since he'd entered and gotten his drink.

"Hey there, gorgeous."

Ah, he spoke too soon.

The tall brunette clad in a romantically-styled chiffon shirt over a black tank top and short shorts swayed over, her impossibly high Manolos clicking hypnotically on the brief patch of onyx. He turned his head away to face the bar as if contemplating his next drink.

"Go away. I'm not interested."

"Oh, but I _am_," she smiled and settled herself in his lap, grinding her hips a bit suggestively, one hand placed around his neck and the other tracing a desultory line down his chest. He flinched and stood up, dumping her onto the floor before she could get much lower.

She yelped and cringed as she looked up at him with fire brooding behind her auburn eyes. He stared patronizingly down at her, not moving or making any indication of his seeing that she gave him the finger before standing shakily and moving away, a sulky twitch added to the previously sweet sway of her hips. He shrugged and sat back down to spend more alone time with his Chartreuse.

Not five minutes had passed before a man in the club's security uniform tapped him on his shoulder. Hiiro rolled his eyes heavenward and sighed as if saying _what now_? He tried his hardest to cull his patience but didn't taste much of success.

"Sir, you're going to have to exit this club."

He tried to count to ten in his head but gave up at four. "Fuck off." The man grabbed him by his collar, but Hiiro laid a hand on his arm and twisted himself around until the arm was in too awkward a position to hold on much longer. When the guard'd let go, Hiiro pushed him away from his own body and kicked him in the lower back. The burly man careened until he could lay a hand upon the opposite wall to regain his balance. When he turned back, he had the eyes of Lucifer, grabbed a nearby bottle of scotch despite the bartender's shrill protests, and brought it down over Hiiro's head; it splintered to silver shards in the darkness and cut with excruciating ferocity.

Hiiro reached up and felt the warm flow of blood at his jaw, saw its supernaturally vermillion glow and growled, lunging at the shorter but wider man and punching him once in the jaw and once in the gut before backing away a bit and kicking him square in the chest so that this time he hit the wall with force and slid down instead of righting himself. Panting a little and with little rivulets of blood traveling from his forehead and jaw, Hiiro staggered to the bar and fumbled for his wallet. The bartender shrank back as if afraid of this half-crazed, bloodied phantasm. Hiiro slid a large bill onto the counter and walked out.

He felt better.

…

**The Hotel Chelsea**

**222 West 23rd Street**

**New York, NY 10011**

**10:30 a.m.**

…

"Clothes are in the bathroom to your right. Go change," his photographer, whom he knew as Kent, ordered him the instant he stepped into the charmingly old-fashioned hotel room. Whether his name was actually Kent or not was up to debate; it was unfashionable and uncouth in modern times for a media-related personage to keep his real name if only those names reminded their former owners of past mediocrity, lives in average, one-story houses with two parents and a dog in suburban America. He nodded once and walked into the restroom, glaring into the silver mirror as his reflection glared back.

When he came out, Cecilia – who insisted that everybody pronounce her name Che-chelia – ushered him into a chair, turned on the overhead light and proceeded to dust him with powder; her formerly chestnut hair now a flaming red with brilliant highlights was tied back to keep it out of her way. Even so, one artificially wavy strand fell into her eyes before she brushed it away with disgust and impatience.

"Hiiro, darling, did you get enough sleep?" she asked with worry obvious in her tone; she adored him. When he didn't reply, she sighed, "Well, try for more next time, okay? You got to take care of yourself. I can see bags." Allanna who stood behind him applying some strange, sweet-smelling substance to his hair laughed and clicked her tongue.

"You should take better care of yourself, Hiiro. You know what they say about models: everybody forgets them the instant they get their first wrinkle."

The curl of contempt forced itself into Hiiro's lips, and Cecilia frowned up at the taller blonde. "You shouldn't tease him like that. Hiiro is absolute perfection. Just get some more sleep, dumpling," she murmured, patting his cheek one last time before standing back and letting him get up with his unmistakable languid grace. Kent looked up from behind his camera and shot Cecilia a questioning look to which she responded by flashing him a thumbs-up sign. He nodded and turned back to the bed.

"Okay, lie down, Sylvia. Hiiro, straddle her." Only then did Hiiro notice the slight girl sitting rather timidly on the luxurious bed who, upon meeting his acerbic gaze, ducked her head and bit her lip. The gesture was frighteningly familiar but before he could dwell on it, she complied with Kent's order and lowered herself onto the bed. Allanna rushed over to rearrange the natural sprawl of her dark, dark hair and Kent moved to adjust the positioning of her legs. Finally, he signaled Hiiro over and, with heavy-lidded indifference, the brunette sat himself on her stomach, careful to keep his weight off her by supporting himself with his knees and arms. Kent motioned to her and with childlike hesitance, she encircled his waist with her legs and his neck with her arms; Hiiro swallowed at the wave of nausea that saturated him through the pores of his indifference. He eyed the girl beneath him; her lips trembled but she didn't seem to dare to look away. He closed his eyes and allowed his chin to fall to his chest.

"Okay, okay, no. Hiiro, you're not supposed to look sad. Look intense. Look hungry." He barely heard Kent's curt orders.

"No, no. Hiiro, what's wrong? What's wrong with my star, huh? You're usually superb at these types of scenarios. Come on. Snap out of it." This time they seemed a little louder, but he was looking away from the light, pursing his lips with silent self-control to keep himself from spewing words he'd regret later.

"Okay, stop. Hiiro. Oh, God, Hiiro. Please, I know this is not the girl you're in love with. I know she might not even be the type of girl you find attractive." Hiiro glanced down at Sylvia; she seemed ready to succumb to tears. A twang of uncommon pity made his heart bleed blood discolored by sin. She was so naïve and gentle, the petals of her lips shuddering, her dark hair spreading out sumptuously in high contrast with her light, light blue eyes that wavered when they met his. She reminded him of Helen. "But whatever it is, let it got for about five minutes. If you have emotional problems outside of your job, leave it there. Don't bring it into this room." Kent sighed and shot him an irate look as if Hiiro were purposely being petulant and perverse. "What am I saying, Hiiro? You're no rookie. Why're you acting like this?"

"No reason," he muttered in reply. Sylvia's eyes met his again, and this time she ventured to smile a little, then blushed at her own audacity. He smirked in reply, delighting in her simplicity; he was certain she was halfway in love with him already.

"Okay. One more time. It's all outside of this room now. Look at Sylvia. This is the girl you want to make love to." This was Helen.

"Good, good! Great, Hiiro, fantastic! Lean closer, lean closer. Right there. Now kiss her. Kiss her, Hiiro."

"No," he muttered, her face inches from hers, his breath whispering against her pale skin and then coming back to him with a note of frigidity.

"Hiiro, you gotta kiss the girl."

"I won't."

"Work with me, Hiiro. Pretend she's your lover. Just do it." Kent was scowling, and in the background, Hiiro could see that Cecilia looked amused and Allanna had her eyebrows raised. Growling to himself, he turned back to Sylvia who chose that opportune moment to swallow with delicate unease, a gesture so Helen that his breathing quickened, and he dipped in for that poisonous kiss.

"Absolutely amazing. They don't call you the best for nothing, Hiiro." Kent was patting him on the back even as he was still on top of Sylvia. He quickly slid off the bed and stood with an air of distaste, straightening the collar of his Boss dress shirt and tightening the silk tie with a certain tone of sulkiness in his usually fluid movements. "Now go home and take care of your problems. I don't want them to come in here again, okay? Okay, great."

He walked out of the room with the strangely satisfying knowledge that this Sylvia who reminded him so much of Helen would be thinking about him that night.

…

**172 West 79th Street, Apartment 11-A**

**Upper West Side, Manhattan **

**New York, NY**

**1:20 p.m.**

…

"This place still doesn't fail to take my breath away." Usagi dropped the large cardboard box she'd be clutching to her chest and heaved a sigh before wiping her brow and admiring her – oh, goodness _her_ – $5,875 apartment. Hiiro, already in the apartment, sighed for a different reason – it wasn't the Carlyle.

"Good." He threw her a tight-lipped smile with a certain tilt of arrogance in the positioning of his shoulders. "Whatever's in that box, burn it." He moved to retrieve it from the floor and drop it out the window; maybe it'll chance upon Milliardo passing by and send him on a vacation to hell.

Usagi's arms flew to catch his wrists, her slim, cool fingers clutching them with more strength than he'd accredited to her. "Hey, hey, back off. Those are family pictures. And I'm sure you can't afford me a whole new wardrobe."

"I'm not planning to. I got you a personal shopper." He shook his wrists free of her fetters and leaned against the nearby wall in a highly debonair manner, a smirk flirting with his deliriously well-sculpted mouth with the same subtlety of shadows right before dusk set in.

"Have you ever seen me shop, Hiiro? Trust me, I don't need help." Usagi shot him a sympathetic smile as if she'd just told him that he was not as retarded as he might look. "By the way, you look good in white," she grinned this time. He brushed the compliment off with the dainty disdain of a cat shaking water off its paws.

"Dorian May. Shortcut to sophistication." He couldn't help but to add, "Though with your looks, I'm afraid you might be beyond help." Was her name a play on Dorian Gray? And if so, how stylish she'd be, how utterly liberal and sinful. He'd have second thoughts about hiring her if her choice in monikers pinned her as such; a hint of crimson and midnight might stain the pink roses in Helen's cheeks red. But there was always the chance that it was only a coincidence. **7**

Helen scowled at him. "Hey, buster, I don't need some random lady to get class-"

"She's not some random lady. She's a one hundred and fifty dollars per hour lady. And you're going to obey her every command." He raised his eyebrows at her and curled his lips up flippantly before stepping aside to allow the furniture moving people to carry a small, Japanese-styled tea table into the apartment. He pointed them in the direction of the dining room and allowed the interior designer to handle the rest. By the time he turned back, the petals of Helen's lips were parted and there was a cast of gray in her eyes as she looked plaintively up at him, a slight furrow tainting the sweet smoothness of her skin; she looked like a French aristocrat who'd just escaped from durance vile courtesy of Monsieur Robespierre.

"I feel like no matter how hard I try, I'm never good enough for you, Hiiro," she sighed before looking down.

"I want you to experience this surfeit of money because you can, not because you need to," he replied with a slight stain of sincerity in his voice. She swallowed, the muscles of her white throat moving with a certain feminine mystique.

Finally, she said, "I'll meet Dorian May. But I won't promise anything."

"I didn't ask for a promise," he retorted. He never asked for promises; they were the foundations of a life of ennui and lack of spontaneity, one not worth living.

She pursed her lips as if she'd sensed the cynical philosophy behind his quiet words but turned away from its sheer horror to return to a much prettier picture of Hiiro Yui in her mind. She looked up and smiled a bit though uncertainty chased the blue of her eyes like a persistent playmate.

"Thank you, Hiiro."

…

**W. 4th St.**

**New York, NY**

**4:00 p.m.**

…

Carroll beamed when he saw Hiiro exit the nearby Starbucks and clutched his camera a bit more tightly in his hands with patent anticipation. If there was anything about Hiiro he liked, it was that the model wasn't pretentious – arrogant and immoral, perhaps, but not pretentious, possibly a quality reserved for those who believed truly in their own prowess and immortality. So, unlike most other models he'd worked with before, Hiiro didn't mind changing in the bathroom of a Starbucks, for example. "Hey, Hiiro, darling. Wonderful. You changed. Just hand your clothes to Lynnette here."

Hiiro nodded and gave her the Valentino outfit without qualms. Carroll swooped in to touch up his hair from earlier handling and then deemed him ready.

"Did you grow taller?" The blond Euro wearing light pink-tinged shades and two platinum earrings in his right ear raised his eyebrows, his faint British accent making the air taste sweeter. Carroll was the epitome of a metrosexual, almost elevated to a quintessential status by other, fashionable young men in the New York area. "Get a facelift?" Hiiro shot him a brooding glare to which Carroll sighed and put his hands up defensively in the air, one still keeping a tight hold on the bulky camera. "Hey, hey, just kidding. Man, sca_ry. _We should tattoo a smile onto your face." He shrugged and brought the camera up to his face.

"Okay keep turning. Don't look at me, Hiiro. Right, just walk. Walk towards me. Hey! Where're you going!" Hiiro's eyes had widened when he chanced to glance to his left and saw Usagi walking down the street with Quatre and Duo flanking her on either side. He started running in the opposite direction.

But it was too late; Quatre had spotted him and, with a carefully controlled look on his face, tailed him all the way to some random alley Hiiro found himself cornered in. He sighed and turned around, but Quatre beat him in being first to speak.

"You're still working?" The question was oddly cordial though there was venom lacing the seamless skin of the blond angel's voice.

"Hn," he bit back, starting when he back touched against the wall of one of the buildings. It arrested any further movement. The alley was dark even during daytime, and he glanced once out to the street where cars were moving sluggishly to the syncopated melody of honks, screeches, and "Up yours, faggot!"

The slightly shorter blond leaned in and placed a hand beside Hiiro's head on the wall; Hiiro looked at it out of the corner of his eye but turned back when Quatre leaned in and murmured in his ear, his voice silky and full of dark promises, "Don't even think about dragging her into this kind of world. Or I'll murder you in your sleep."

"Gorgeous!" Carroll stood blocking the light from the street, snapping two quick shots and then a third when the two turned to look at him in surprise. "The girls will sell their souls for a shot of this." Hiiro paled at Carroll's implication though Quatre didn't seem to catch it – girls would sell their souls for a shot of two pretty boys looking as if they were about to kiss and more in an illicit alley of New York. "We're lucky you're wearing Helmut Lang, Mister … " Carroll squinted in the darkness before his light green eyes widened in surprise. "Winner."

The blond heir looked coolly back at Hiiro once before pushing past the startled photographer and reentering the pool of pale sunlight. Carroll looked a little miffed at Quatre's marked lack of acknowledgment of his presence.

"What's up his ass?" He turned to look for the disappearing figure.

Hiiro stood from his position of leaning against the wall and ran his fingers through his gelled hair. "Are we through?"

"Yeah, you want me to just throw your old clothes away?" By then Lynnette had caught up, and Carroll moved to signal her to dump the outfit in the trash.

Hiiro was about to nod before one impish thought flitted through his mind: Usagi had said she liked the shirt. "No, I'll keep them."

Carroll shot him a strange look but shrugged as Lynnette handed him the carefully folded clothes. Hiiro nodded his thanks.

He barely caught Carroll's faint question to Lynnette before he left: "What's up with him? He's never this thrifty…"

…

**To**

**Josie's Restaurant**

**300 Amsterdam Ave. ****at 74th St. **

**Upper West Side, Manhattan**

**New York, NY**

**6:35 p.m.**

"Hey, Hiiro, Quatre and Duo are going out to dinner tonight. You want to come with us?" Usagi popped her head exactly where it wasn't wanted – in front of Hiiro's face. He looked up at her from his position on the ivory-colored leather sofa placidly and with no visible emotion except the palest tinge of irk.

"Not really."

She pouted a little and swung her purse like a petulant child. "Come on. How else are you going to eat? You're going to end up starving yourself."

He sighed. Sometimes he wondered how he'd managed to survive two weeks of rooming with her; he reluctantly set down the copy of Joseph Conrad's _Heart of Darkness_ and scowled at her. "What if I say I have a date?"

Usagi raised a skeptic eyebrow and placed her hands on her hips with the semi-cheeky air of Shirley Temple telling her audience about the animal crackers in her soup. "I'd say you're lying. We're going to Josie's. It's nice. Really healthy. And _affordable_ unlike the places _some_ of us frequent."

He rejoined, voice latent with boredom and arrogance, "Everything's affordable if you've got the money."

"And everywhere's walking distance if you've got the time. Get a move on, Hiiro." She rolled her eyes and moved to grab the house keys resting innocently on the kitchen counter. **10**

"I don't like affordable."

"Quatre already made reservations for four. Come _on_, Hiiro. Don't you want to see Duo again?"

The answer would be uh, no.

"Who is that?" He nodded to the photo on the bookshelf they set up in the living room because Usagi had insisted on it for some random and useless thing … ah! – college. A handsome, blond man with deliriously sharp and clear green eyes smiled out cockily as if ready to step out of the door and conquer the world. Hiiro frowned at it a little and wondered why it deserved such a prominent place in the living room where, whenever he chose to look up, he had to meet those pellucid green eyes.

"Oh, that's my brother. His name is Shingo." Helen walked over and handled the picture lovingly, tracing the roses on the silver picture frame. "Sometimes I really miss him. He is so obnoxious though that I just want to-" she stopped short and laughed at herself, the bitter syrup of sorrow mixed into the honey of her chuckles.

"Where is he right now?"

She looked a little startled as if she hadn't thought about that in a long time. "Oh – he's in – he's in D.C. Yeah. Has a wife and a baby." She set the picture back down and then started and scowled. "Hey! Don't change the subject." Turning and giving him a once over, Helen stomped over to him and grabbed his arm, dragging him to the door; he didn't have the heart to resist. "You're dressed well enough. Let's go." They paused at the elevator, then got in, and settled in for a forty-three story ride down.

"Y'know, Hiiro, just because you're some fabulously wealthy heir doesn't mean you can skip class," she told him in a mockingly pedantic manner.

He jerked and glanced at her quickly. "What?"

"Class. You haven't been coming to class." Oh, shoot. He knew he'd been forgetting something.

"That reminds me … why're you studying dramatic writing? What does your dad's business do?" She obviously thought dramatic writing was something of an effeminate major, and he had to agree. After all, why else would Quatre and Duo be taking it?

"You assume too much," he sighed as they stepped out of the elevator and walked through the lobby to the north entrance.

"Okay, but you're definitely an heir, right?" She stopped short as they moved in opposite directions. "Hello, Hiiro? Subway station's this way."

He frowned. "I want a tax-"

"Well, too bad. We're riding the subway. It'll be a new experience for you, Hiiro."

"Hn." It was one experience he could do _without_. But he started to follow her, and she continued chatting as if she didn't realize her companion was not in the best of moods.

"So what does your family do, Hiiro?"

"Would you believe me if I told you my dad's a mob boss?"

Her startled eyes met his as the two retrieved the subway tickets and half-jogged, half-speed-walked to the subway train right as it was about to finish boarding. "…No." He hesitated, and she tugged at his arm with the ferocity of a security guard at the Four Seasons. "Get on. _Get on, _Hiiro." Once they'd situated themselves in the rush-hour oppressiveness of the subway and grabbed onto the railings amidst much discontented muttering from Hiiro, Usagi inquired, "You're not serious, are you?"

He brusquely rubbed a hand over his face, a gesture in which he tended to partake before lying. "No. He does a lot of things but mostly overseas investment and banking, I guess."

"Really? And you've never heard of Quatre?"

"Of course I've heard of Quatre."

"This is our stop." She pulled him out along with her like a mother leading a three-year-old and continued indulging in her palaver. "Has Quatre ever heard of you?"

"Why don't you ask him." His fists clenched a little involuntarily, and his jaw tightened.

She eyed him with the naiveté of a child who still believed everybody in the world was inherently good and kind and would buy everybody else Christmas presents if they had the time and money. "Do you not like Quatre, Hiiro?"

"No." A simple answer to a stupid question.

"Why not?" she persisted. He wanted to reach over and strangle her but one, she was too beautiful to die, and two, there were too many people around.

"He's a pompous, big-headed- hi, Winner." His eyes moved up to meet Quatre's blue-green ones, and he forced a smile; it was more of a baring of fangs.

Quatre smiled and murmured quietly, "Were you describing yourself, Hiiro?" He turned to the girl and the smile brightened into a real one as Hiiro's expression darkened. "Usagi, how're you?"

She beamed, oblivious to the exchange of expressions and body language. "Great. Where's Duo?"

"Already inside, chatting up a waitress." Quatre shook his head and turned a little red at the ears. It was delightfully perverse how the blond billionaire could be so ungentlemanly with him and yet so genteel, so innocent and childlike with Usagi and Duo.

"Sickening but … pretty impressive, I guess," Usagi laughed after making a face.

"Let's go in." The blond offered her his arm which she took and the two headed toward the door. Usagi looked back and motioned for Hiiro to follow at her side. He chose to remain half a step behind if only because coarseness and a lack of sophistication were like diseases, and Quatre had the worst case he'd seen yet.

Usagi hesitated mid-step and pulled her arm out from around Quatre's. "You go on ahead, Quatre."

The blond looked a little surprised but nodded his agreement and disappeared into the warmness of Josie's Restaurant.

"Hiiro, please. Try to get along with Quatre, okay? I don't want a disaster tonight." He felt a little irate that she had chosen to admonish him instead of Quatre, but her big, blue eyes were pleading at him and she looked as if her pretty red heart would break in two if he dared to refuse.

"We'll never be able to get along." He shrugged, watching her with almost scientific interest; her expression crumbled.

"Why not?" That lower lip was starting to jut out and tremble; his heart did an odd thing – it twitched. He lowered his eyelids and tried not to meet her gaze.

"I … I once did a very bad thing to a girl whom he loved very much." That was the way to express it to a five-year-old, one yet untouched by the phantasms of reality and cynicism.

Her eyes widened to the size of grapefruits. "Really?"

He sighed, still looking down, regret and self-hatred bleeding into his previously stolid and strangely cavalier tone. "Her name was Rei."

"Rei? What hap-Oh, my goodness! What're y- it's a cat, Hiiro! Oh, it's so tiny; it can't be more than a kitten!" Her words seemed a strange rendition of it's a boy, Hiiro! She bent down, and he took the opportunity to roll his eyes heavenwards; he knew what was coming next. "Oh, look at you. You look so miserable. Come here, come here, I won't hurt you. There's a good kitty – what?" She glanced up at his icy and fed-up expression as she stroked the mangy ball of orange fluff. The _ugly_, mangy ball of orange fluff. "We can't just leave her here!" **11**

"Fine, we'll leave you out here and take the cat,"he snapped before pausing and asking,"How do you know it's a her?"

She raised her eyebrows. "Do you want me to show you?"

He blanched and muttered quickly, "I'll live."

It was such an ugly little creature that it was almost endearing. Its eyes were a stark, dead-fish yellow set a bit widely on a face that looked as if it'd been flattened by either its fall from heaven or its encounter with an eighteen wheeler. It had faint tiger stripes, a bushy tail, and was covered in luxurious fur. At Hiiro's blatantly disgusted stare, it meowed and wound itself around his legs. He jumped back and stared bleakly at the orangish fur on his pant legs. "We can't take that thing into the restaurant." He crossed his fingers. They'd _better_ not be able to take that thing into the restaurant.

Usagi's face fell as she shot him a sorrowful look before picking up the kitten and stroking her gently. "You're right, we can't. Oh, Hiiro, don't you like animals at all?"

"My favorite animal is steak." Her eyes widened, and her hold on the kitten tightened until it yowled in protest and reproach. He sighed, "A joke. That was a joke." **12**

It was getting a little chilly outside as dusk set in, and he pulled his jacket together a little. The action seemed to attract Helen's attention. "Hiiro! You're wearing a jacket."

He sighed. No shit, Sherlock.

"No, it's called a blazer – Oh, no. I am _not_ touching that _creature_. It's been all over the streets! It probably has AIDS or something." He backed away unsteadily as she advanced, a pleading look in her face, and the kitten held up to him. He was _not_ ever going to go hug that thing to his body.

"Come on, Hiiro! Look at her. Look, isn't she adorable?" His right eye twitched a little. What was Helen's definition of adorable? "Hey, I think she likes you. She's _purring_." And Helen's voice was turning into a squeal.

"She's disgusting," he retorted, but when Usagi blinked up at him with a small pout forming on her lips, he cursed his luck and took the ugly cat over. "Okay, fine. It'd better not relieve itself on me or something."

Helen beamed as if that'd be the perfect conclusion to their already Godforsaken evening. She gestured for him to follow. "Okay, come on. Let's go in."

"Party of four under Winner," she smiled charmingly at the host as he looked down to make two checkmarks before motioning for them to follow a waiter. The shorter man glanced once at Hiiro and stopped short, pausing to stare a bit at the jacket wrapped tightly around the brunette's torso.

"What're you looking at? I'm cold," Hiiro snapped, and the gentleman quickly looked away, a pink flush staining his cheeks.

"R-right this way."

Duo spotted them first and waved wildly as Quatre ducked and tried to avoid getting hit. "Hey, Usagi, Hiiro! Did you gain weight, Hiiro?" The braided man eyed the slight bulge at Hiiro's stomach area with a certain air of bewilderment and almost maternal concern.

Hiiro glared and muttered a curse to Duo and his children under his breath; Usagi shot him a reprimanding look.

Duo shrank back and made a face. "Just playing, man, jeez."

"Here are your menus. Please take your time." With that, the maitre'd excused himself and left.

"We can all just go ahead and get two pizzas," Quatre murmured, glancing up and looking around the table to search for consensus.

"It says here that there's no dairy in the pizza," Duo spoke up with a slightly disbelieving look upon his face and holding the menu away from him as if he were farsighted.

Quatre nodded. "Yeah."

"How is that possible?" Duo's eyes were the size of Frisbees as if Quatre'd just told him he'd regurgitated the pillow he'd eaten a month or so ago and it was as good as new. **13**

A slight, annoyed frown settled over Quatre's usually placid expression as he tapped his foot a little impatiently. "I don't know. It's also has a spelt-oat-bran crust."

"I feel sick." He made another face, closed the menu, and pushed it as far away from him as possible.

Usagi glanced up and admonished, "It's _healthy_, Duo."

"Well, I need to build strong bones." He crossed his arms like a spoiled child and looked about to stick his tongue out. Usagi shot him a withering look.

"This place doesn't have dairy at all," Hiiro noted, scanning the menu a bit and noting the descriptions of each dish for the food conscious and organic-obsessed consumers.

Duo's jaw dropped, and he made as if about to get up and sprint out from a building on fire. "Are you serious! Why are we here!"

Hiiro shifted a little in his seat and shot Duo a scalding look. "Can we just order?" The cat was getting uncomfortable. No, not _he_ was getting uncomfortable with the cat, but the _cat_ itself was getting uncomfortable. He clutched a little at his jacket and shoved, putting a restraining hand on the ugly little thing to keep it from shifting so much. "It's not a big-"

Meow.

Quatre jerked and looked up, glancing around. Usagi's eyes went wide. "What was that?"

Hiiro cleared his throat a little uncomfortably and shifted some more. "My stomach. I'm a little-"

Meow.

"A little hungry," he continued obstinately, jabbing the creature until it stopped shifting but not before it attempted to swipe at his hand once through the fabric of his jacket.

Quatre frowned and raised an eyebrow at Duo and Usagi before turning back to the man sitting opposite of him at the table. "Are you sure? It sounded like a c-"

"So are we decided on the pizzas?" Saved by Usagi. Hiiro rolled his eyes. _Yeah, good, Quatre. Cats say meow_. The debonair blond scowled briefly at him but shrugged casually in his carefully-tailored suit, his jacket unbuttoned.

"Yeah sure." And just in case he'd been hallucinating this whole time, Duo leaned in, raised his eyebrows and asked in a clandestine tone, "No dairy at all?"

"None," Usagi deadpanned. Duo recoiled from her unamused expression.

A waiter strode over and nodded as Quatre fed him the order.

"Okay, that will be two pizzas. Anything else?"

Quatre turned back. "Do you want to go red and then white wine?"

Usagi scrunched up her nose but at Quatre's faintly pleading look, sighed and relented, "I'll just have the red."

"Okay, let's start with two bottles of red, and we'll call you over again for white and dessert." The waiter nodded and left. Hiiro jerked in his seat; the cat was starting to squirm and had just kicked him in a highly ticklish spot. He glanced down at the burgundy carpet and saw a cricket twitching on the floor. Shit.

The waiter returned with their wine and paused in his pouring of it, shooting Hiiro a look that was usually reserved for the mentally unwell. "Is something the matter, sir? The bathroom is further into the restaurant."

He glared up at the waiter.

"He's fine. He's just really excited to be here – ow!" He kicked Usagi under the table. It was a pretty weak kick because 1. he was attempting to control the vermin under his jacket, and 2. she was sitting beside him so he had to maneuver his leg so that it would swing that way.

The waiter nodded skeptically and decided that now was a good time to excuse himself. "I'll be back with your orders."

Usagi jabbed him in the side and hissed, "Sit _still_, Hiiro."

He looked down and opened his jacket a little to look down at the cat in his lap. She peered over at some indeterminate area around his waist as he growled, "It's getting excited." Hiiro looked up to catch Quatre giving a wide-eyed Duo a sidelong look.

"Well can't you hold it? Stroke it or something," Usagi snapped back in a low tone, still eyeing the indeterminate place around his waist.

Duo turned to Quatre and mouthed, "Oh, my God, it looks like they're playing with his…"

Hiiro's eyes narrowed as he scowled at her. "You want to stroke it?" Then, sarcastically, he threw her words back at her. "Oh, I think it _likes_ you."

Duo's jaw dropped and he uttered a faint, "Uhh…" Just how close had Hiiro and Usagi become in the last month? Because the conversation sounded awfully illicit.

"You were playing with it outside. Why not now?" Usagi demanded, sitting back up straight and taking a delicate sip of her wine.

Quatre's right eye twitched.

"Because this is a _restaurant_. It's a civil _establishment._" He paused and resettled the cat a little so that it wasn't five seconds away from falling off. "Why'd we bring it in here?"

Usagi shrugged and whispered back, "Well, it's kind of attached to you…"

"Is not."

Duo's eyebrows rose to under his bangs. This was some interesting information…

"Hold it _still_," Usagi hissed again.

"How about you hold it for the rest of the night." He raised a faintly pleading eyebrow at her. The table was dead silent as Quatre and Duo strained to hear the quiet conversation and Hiiro and Usagi failed to realize this.

"It'd be too _obvious_."

"And it's not obvious that I have this-this _thing_ in my lap? And it's filthy. I don't even want to touch it." He pointed at it and jerked back when it attempted to disengage his finger from the rest of his hand.

"Hiiro, wait until we get home, okay? Then we'll do something about it."

"It needs to be taken care of _now. _Look. Look at it. It's squirming. And it's ugly."

Duo blanched. Too much information.

"Take care of it yourself! Just for right now, okay?"

"You think I can just take it out right here at the table and play with it?"

"Well, maybe Duo'd like it…"

At this point, Duo had to speak up. He most certainly would _not_ like it unless it involved being in a threesome with _both _Hiiro and Usagi. "Uhh, guys? Is something the matter?"

Usagi looked up, eyes wide, and grinned. "No! No of course n-"

Meow.

Quatre frowned and set his wineglass down. "Okay, I'm pretty sure there's a c-"

"Pizza's here!" Usagi cheered.

"Yay!" Duo joined in, completely forgetting his previous discomfort.

In this moment of slight confusion, Hiiro leaned over a little and muttered, "It's clawing at me."

"_She's_ hungry," Usagi retorted.

"Do cats eat pizza?"

"Is something the matter, Hiiro?" Quatre's eyes were narrowed as he eyed the way that Hiiro leaned over to whisper in Usagi's ear.

Hiiro eased himself back to his original position and sedately replied, "I'm starved."

"Oh, then go ahead." The blond indicated the pizza.

Hiiro forced a slight smile and took a piece. Tearing a bit off, he sneaked it down to the cat and hissed when that ungrateful wretch bit him.

At Quatre's questioning look, he explained, "Sorry. Bit my tongue."

"So, Usagi, how's the new apartment?" That was Duo doing a bad job at changing the subject.

"It's awesome. Absolutely great." Duo's right eye ticked a little as Usagi's hand sneaked over to the same indeterminate area in Hiiro's lap and stayed there. Quatre's eyes narrowed.

"Do you need any money?"

"No, we're doing great." Usagi reassured, bringing the pizza to her mouth with her uncoordinated left hand as her right hand stroked Hiiro's lap. Quatre blanched.

Duo spoke up first, "If you guys want to be alone, we understand, but man, please get a room."

Usagi tilted her head and shot her braided friend a confused look.

"Your hand," Hiiro growled.

Her mouth formed an o shape, and she withdrew her arm quickly, bright red tainting her cheeks.

"It's moving too much," he sighed after giving up at feeding it or himself.

"So have any of you done the short story assignment?" Quatre started, chewing his pizza and eyeing his three dates.

"Take it to the bathroom," Usagi replied under her breath.

Quatre glanced at her. "Excuse me?"

"I said mine takes place in a bathroom," she replied with no falter in her voice.

Hiiro stood up and, without a word or a nod, clutching his jacket around him as if there would be no tomorrow, left.

Before he was out of earshot, he heard Quatre ask, "Where's he going?"

And Usagi reply, "Bathroom?"

"Oh."

The door swung shut after him and, making sure he had no company in the bathroom, he dumped cat into one of the sinks and then turned to straighten his clothes. He eyed his slightly wrinkled shirt critically and frowned at the minute bags under his eyes. Cecelia had been right. He needed more sleep.

Sighing, he vowed to sleep more that night and leave things as they were now. He turned around and stopped short. "Oh, shit." The cat was gone.

He looked around frantically – under the sinks, around the potted plants and then saw the vent at the bottom of the door. He pushed it, and it swung open. "Shit, shit, shit." He punched the door open and ran head first into an elderly lady who stumbled a bit, clutching her purse to her body, before taking a good look at him. Her eyes widened.

"Oh, my God! It's Hiiro Y-" He clamped a hand over her mouth.

"Hi, Aunt Dotty, it's great to see you again," he replied in a loud enough voice so that people with seats close to the bathroom would turn away. Then, lowering his voice, he muttered to her, "I'm not Hiiro Yui, got that? Don't tell anybody." Digging in his back pocket, he fished out a one hundred dollar bill and handed it to her, patting her roughly on the back before heading back to his own table. She wobbled a little and brought a shaky hand up to her lips.

He heard her last words as he was leaving: "I am never washing these lips again…" Shaking his head and rolling his eyes, Hiiro slid into his seat. If that was an example of his fan base, he was going to go home that night and stab himself fifty times.

"I lost it."

"Pardon?" Usagi turned her wide, blue eyes to him.

"I lost the damn cat."

She gasped and gaped, "What!"

"Is something the matter?" Quatre's eyes were wide with concern.

Usagi smiled serenely. "Hiiro says there's lotion in the men's bathroom. Can you believe that!"

Duo frowned and looked confused. "Last time I checked, there wasn't any."

Usagi shrugged before demanding in a low hiss, "Where is it right now?"

"How am I supposed to know!"

"Well, we have to find it before somebody else d-"

"Oh, my God! There's a cat eating my rotisserie chicken!" A gentleman from across the restaurant jumped up and screamed like a little girl.

_Bingo_.

Usagi jumped up out of her seat and grabbed Hiiro's arm. "Sorry, sir. We'll take care of it for you." The cat was gorging itself; Usagi made a face, picked it up by the scruff of its neck, and ran for the exit but not before yelling back, in hurried words, "It was great seeing you two, Quatre, Duo!"

By the time they were a quarter of a mile from the restaurant, Usagi slowed to a stop and paused to catch her breath, the cat still swinging in her grasp by the scruff of its neck. Hiiro panted a little and glared at the little monster.

"That was a hell of a lot of trouble over one damn cat."

Usagi started walking again at a much more leisurely pace and beamed up at him. "It was worth it though, wasn't it?"

"No."

She wasn't listening anymore and instead had turned to cradle the cat. "Look, the poor darling's shivering from fright." They were both shivering, and she was hugging the cat close to her as if for heat. Hiiro glanced over and sighed to himself, thinking, _Women_. He took off his jacket and gave it to her; it might as well belong to the cat from now on – it was covered in its fur. With that bitter thought in mind, Hiiro decided the cat could have his pants, too.

"Happy?"

Usagi smiled. "Thank you, Hiiro." She tugged him along. "Let's walk home."

He shot her an incredulous look. "You want to get mugged?"

"I have you here to protect me." She laughed a little. "Besides, it's kind of nice out here."

_Because _you_ have the jacket._ He stuck his hands in his pockets and tried not to shiver visibly. They walked a couple of meters in silence as Usagi glanced down periodically at the little ball of fur she was hugging to her chest.

"I think I'll name you Hiiro."

Hiiro sputtered and nearly gagged. "You name a female cat after me?"

"Look, she likes it," Usagi giggled tickling the cat in the stomach a little as if it were a human child.

He shook his head in disgust at her. "I get perfumes named after me, not cats. And that is one ugly cat."

She grinned. "So you agree? The name fits?"

"Shut up."

She hugged the cat more tightly to her body. On second thought, maybe at this moment, the little furball did have something over him…

"We're keeping her, right?" He knew it'd been coming and had thought up an answer already but paused before answering anyway.

She slowed in order to turn and pout at him. "Oh, come on, Hiiro! Where's the child in you? Were you one of those kids who didn't believe in the tooth fairy?"

"The tooth fairy teaches children that they can sell body parts for money," he ground out. **14**

She paled.

Finally, he sighed, "We'll keep her."

"You know, Hiiro, you're a pretty nice guy." It seemed as if it'd taken her more than two minutes of silence to force those words out of her mouth.

"I don't get that a lot."

"I can imagine," she laughed before pausing and then continuing in a more serious tone, "Hiiro, what would you do if somebody you really loved had to go far away for a long time, and somehow along the way you'd lost touch with that person?"

He didn't even pause to think. "I'd hunt that person down. I'd look for her."

"I thought so." Usagi smiled knowingly down at little Hiiro in her embrace. Big Hiiro turned to scowl at the cat as it started purring.

"What would you do if you knew today was your last day to be alive, Hiiro?" she continued, her voice soft and hushed as if she didn't want to disturb the moon or the night. In the background, there were faint honks and the sound of a distant ambulance.

He took a moment to think this one through. "I'd punch a certain person's face in." _Milliardo. _" I'd kiss the girl I love." _Rei_. "I'd like to donate a lot of money to charities." _Not_.

"That's sweet." The word _sweet_ sounded sweet the way she uttered it.

He shrugged. "And maybe have good sex."

She laughed a little and reached one hand over to poke him. "You ruined the mood."

He grabbed her hand and shoved it back to her. "What would you do?"

She blinked and murmured, "You know what? I really don't know."

Hiiro nodded and Usagi smiled at the doorman as they entered the apartment complex and then the elevator, heading up.

"What're you thinking right now, Hiiro?" she asked in the dense silence of the enclosed space.

They walked out as the doors slid open after a ding, and Hiiro fumbled for the keys to the apartment before opening the door. She stepped in after him.

"Nothing important," he sighed and moved to flip the lights on but stopped when she put a restraining hand over his. She dropped Hiiro who jauntily walked into the living room as if he owned the place and jumped onto the sofa, curling up and settling down for a short catnap.

Usagi turned back, tentatively stood on her toes, and kissed him softly. He started a bit at her bold move and stared a moment at her closed eyes before returning the kiss, crushing her lips and demanding more; she responded hesitatingly and when he ran his tongue over her lower lip and probed her mouth, she reluctantly opened it, shuddering a little and shrugging the borrowed jacket off her shoulders, allowing it to pool at her feet. Her back was to the wall, and she leaned heavily against it for support as Hiiro's hands became more liberal, moving up and down her sides, delighting in the soft curve of her breasts and the smooth one of her hips. He growled as she pulled away, gasping for breath, and reached up to undo the buttons of his dress shirt; her hands were fumbling, and he groaned a little in impatience as he pushed himself against her, the only barrier between them the paper-thin fabric of their clothing.

Finally, he pushed her hands away and tore at his shirt; the buttons flew off and made bright clicking sounds on the wooden floors. His smoky irises met hers as he turned his attention to her clothing; she pulled her shirt over her head and sighed as he pressed himself to her, one leg in between hers, and buried his head in the crook of her neck. Her eyes widened as she realized what that bulge that was pressing against her leg signified and involuntarily moved to grind against it. Hiiro stiffened and cursed, one hand involuntarily moving up her skirt; she stifled a moan. By God, he was going to take her standing up against the wall-

Meow.

He jerked back and stumbled a couple of steps, attempting to gain control of his breathing. It was lust, not love. He repeated that phrase to himself about twenty times in the space of thirty seconds. Usagi's clouded eyes cleared and darted away from his to the floor. They'd locked gazes for a moment and a silent agreement seemed to pass. She straightened her skirt a little, bit her lip, and sidled past him on her way to her own bedroom.

For five whole minutes he stood there. Then, walking over and slamming one fist into a coach pillow, he glared at the cat named after him and shooed her away. Bare-chested still, he reached over, picked up the wireless phone, and dialed a familiar number. He didn't have to wait long before the other side picked up.

"Hi, Dominique, I need a favor. Can I come over in five minutes? Thanks."

…

**The Carlyle**

**35 East 76th St., at Madison Ave.**

**New York, NY **

**9:45 a.m.**

…

Built by noted architects Bien & Prince and named for British essayist Thomas Carlyle, the charming, quietly elegant hotel had been a city mainstay since 1930. Uniformed elevator operators whisked guests up to spacious Empire- and Art Deco-style rooms decorated by Dorothy Drape, and later updated by noted designer Mark Hampton. Done-up in shades of red, blue, pale green or cream, with Audubon, Piranesi or Kips prints on the walls, rooms felt like private Upper East Side apartments—classic, comfortable, refined.

Personal fax machines, wireless connections, DVD and CD players qualified the Carlyle as high-tech, but it was its unique and luxurious amenities that truly stood out: custom-made Limoge ashtrays, direct-dial to Sotheby's, Kiehl's beauty products, breakfast trays and, in many suites, terraces and grand pianos. The discreet, knowledgeable staff had expertly catered to generations of regulars, including celebrities, Presidents and royalty; notable names had also lived in the Carlyle's residential section, where apartment owners enjoyed the same perks as hotel guests.

Tuxedo-ed men and bejeweled women enjoyed fine French cuisine at Dumonet; lighter fare in the Turkish-themed Gallery; drinks among the whimsical murals of Bemelman's Bar; and classic entertainment in the famed Café Carlyle. **15**

This was what Hiiro woke up to the next morning: familiarity.

The buxom woman at his side turned and hugged his arm to her ample chest. "Hey, beautiful. You awake?"

"Hn," he muttered and wrenched that arm from her, bringing it to his eyes to protect them against the offending sunlight.

"Do you want breakfast in bed? Or shall we continue?" She giggled at her own suggestion and, with her head propped up on one arm, traced patterns on his chest suggestively. He sighed and looked away, a bored and blank look on his face.

"I should be going." He moved to get up, but Dominique pressed a restraining hand against his chest.

"Stay, Hiiro." She leaned in and whispered, "Fuck me." For a moment her voice sounded strangely like Usagi's, and in a strange burst of impetuousness, Hiiro flipped over until he was straddling her. She panted in anticipation, her large, green eyes slightly glazed and long, platinum blonde hair fanned out around her in luxurious, artificial curls.

He sighed and shrugged. "I'm not interested." Hiiro got up and off the bed and went for his clothes.

Dominique sat up and let the covers slide off her. "Hey, doll, who called who up at 11:00 at night needing a fix?" She followed him out of bed, unabashed of her own nakedness. "If I say I want you to stay then you'd better stay."

He looked up at her slowly after securing his belt and then, in one fluid movement, slammed her against the wall, murmuring, his breath hot against her ear, "Don't ever use that tone of voice with me again."

He backed off and shrugged his shirt on.

"You'll come again, won't you? Damn it, I know it was good." She scowled a little and pouted.

"Not if I can help myself."

She smiled knowingly. "You can't help yourself."

With his back to her, he paused and sighed before leaving the hotel room.

…

**172 West 79th Street, Apartment 11-A**

**Upper West Side, Manhattan **

**New York, NY**

…

Hiiro entered the apartment and was just closing the door behind him when Usagi walked out in a tank top and pajama bottoms, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and yawning like a cat. "Hey, Hiiro. Where were you last night?"

"Out," he muttered.

"Oh." She seemed still a little afraid to meet his eyes, and he felt oddly disgusted with himself. She peeked up at him and smiled a little. "Would you like breakfast?" He paused and stared.

"You cooked breakfast?" The more important question was did he want to eat it?

She smiled a bit embarrassedly. "No, I was hoping _you_ could." He sighed. No wonder.

"How did you manage living by yourself?"

She shrugged. "Bernie cooked for me."

Bernie the dinosaur. He didn't want to know. "You want to eat out?" He really didn't want to cook; the previous night had been tiring due both to restraint and exertions.

She shook her head vehemently. "No, I don't want you to spend any more money."

He raised an eyebrow. "You want me to cook for you?"

"Please?"

Hiiro sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I'm going to have to go get some groceries."

"That's ok. I already got them." She smiled meekly as if afraid of him. He frowned at the thought.

"When'd you go?"

"Last night."

He jerked and shot her a reprimanding glare. "At midnight! You could've been raped!" She could've been raped by _me, _he reminded himself.

Usagi looked down at her hands and bit her lip. He could only imagine what she'd been like – all alone, walking down the aisles, thinking about the person who'd wanted to take her but ended up leaving her all by herself.

"I wanted you to come with me, but you'd already left," she explained in the small voice of a six-year-old caught in the act of stealing cookies. She shouldn't ever have had to use that voice, and he fought down the strange inclination to pull her to him and smile into her hair.

He sighed. "I'm sorry about last night, Usagi."

"It's okay. I understand. We're both only human."

"Well, go take a shower or something. You look like shit."

"Thanks." She wrinkled her nose at him, and he pushed her in the direction of her bathroom by her forehead.

"I'll cook breakfast."

"Thanks." It was the first genuine smile he'd seen out of her that morning, and as she turned to head back to the bathroom, he returned the smile without her ever knowing it.

He opened the refrigerator and got the eggs out, dunking a couple in water and setting it on the stove to boil. He then cracked about four more and beat them until the yolk and egg whites mixed before pouring the mixture into the pan in order to scramble them.

What else? He looked around. Pancakes.

With batter mixed and another pan ready on the stove, he started the first pancake and stopped short. What if Helen didn't like pancakes? He shrugged to himself – might as well make some waffles while he was at it. In order to buy her forgiveness, of course.

The eggs were about ready to be salted. He fished around in the cabinets and shook his head.

"That idiot forgot to get salt." He sighed to himself and grabbed a jacket before exiting the apartment. Once on the street, he jogged over to Restaurant 222 and entered the establishment slightly out of breath. He bypassed the hostess's stand and headed for the nearest table. **16**

"Hey, sir, what do you think you're doing!"

Hiiro looked up. "Morning, Frank. I needed some salt." **17**

The man's eyes became round as he recognized one of his more esteemed customers. "Mr. Yui! Would you like anything else? Pepper? Cilantro? Oregano?"

"No, thanks."

"Come visit us again soon!" The moustached man grinned as Hiiro stuffed about fifty packets of salt into his pockets.

"Yeah, okay."

He jogged back and set the table, just about to finish when Usagi came out, hair wet, and carrying Hiiro. The cat, not him.

"Say good morning to Hiiro, Hiiro. Hiiro, pet her." He shook his head in slight confusion but obeyed. Hiiro purred and sniffed at his fingers, licking away the remaining amount of salt. He pulled his hand back in slight revulsion.

Usagi grinned. "That's a good girl. See? She likes you a lot."

He motioned for her to sit, and she complied, digging in with an almost monstrous kind of vigor.

"Wow, this is really good, Hiiro. Where'd you learn to cook?" she asked between bites. He shrugged and tried to think of a plausible answer that didn't sound too much like _I was living on the streets in a gang_.

"I lived alone for a while. I figured it was a good chance to learn." He had had to learn; at that point in time, Cipriani's would have kicked him out before he even placed both feet within its premises.

Usagi looked impressed. "I guess in that respect you're different from the average rich boy." She delighted some more in the food and smiled, "You should teach me."

"I would if I knew you could learn it."

She stuck her tongue out at him but laughed the banter away.

"So tell me about your family, Hiiro."

He looked down at his food. "There's nothing to tell. They're rich and in Europe right now."

Her expression became wistful. "Really? I've always wanted to go to Europe."

"I'll take you there sometime," he offered casually.

She paused, surprised, and chuckled. "Man, nothing's impossible when you have money, huh?"

"Almost," he murmured.

She didn't seem to hear. "Thank you for a sumptuous breakfast, Hiiro. It was better than eating out." She stood and took her plate to the sink, running water over it. "I'll do the dishes."

He acquiesced and took the other dishes to her.

"By the way, a lady named Dominique called while you were gone." Her back was turned to him, and her words fought with the sound of running water to reach his ears. He stiffened.

She knew. "Really?" His voice was perfectly smooth and light.

"Yeah. Said she wanted to schedule something with you." Her tone was indecipherable.

"Okay."

There was a pause and then a fallaciously casual question: "You going to call her back?"

"I don't think so."

He was going to abstain from now on.

She turned to meet his eyes and smiled sweetly. He didn't smile back, but from her expression, he knew that she knew he'd meant to.

"What do you want to do today?"

Usagi raised an eyebrow and dried the last dish. "Go to class?"

Hiiro sighed. He still had to teach her not to be such a stickler for the rules. "Let me go dig out my books."

She giggled. "We're just getting to the exciting part. They're talking about the _groom_." **18**

"I can hardly wait."

…

**IMG Modeling **

**304 Park Avenue **

**New York, NY**

**5:25 p.m.**

…

Days in summer were apt to linger, perhaps, but those in spring were not. It was near the end of May when Hiiro found himself sitting where it all began – in Milliardo's office – looking out over a terrace of laburnum as honey sweet in scent as it was in color; sprays of lilac mingled with the same subtlety as a woman's perfume. The birds singing in the small, dew-drenched garden seemed to be telling the flowers about her.

Helen had proven to be all ivory and rose-leaves the past five or so months and despite that Hiiro had gotten used to a world where his whims were laws to everybody except himself, he found that he was more accommodating around her, softer. She was a Hellenic ideal with her rose-red youth and her rose-white innocence and the way her cheeks stained pink with shame at the mentioning of the most ordinary things.

And yet she thought all his random, impetuous compliments to be nothing more than the charming exaggerations of friendship that are to be listened to, laughed at, and then forgotten. Often he'd look up from his reading and find her staring at him, smiles chasing each other over her lips, but sometimes there'd be a shadow of sorrow over her face, a mask of glass that allowed him to see wounds like red roses. Sometimes, there was the joy of a caged bird in her voice so subtle that it was like the shadow of wisteria in a mirror of silver. But, he had always reasoned with himself, behind every exquisite thing that existed, there was something tragic. Each had heaven and hell in him. Like himself, for example. Like Rei.

Milliardo strode into the room and pulled the vertical blinds open, revealing a floor to ceiling view. The bright late afternoon flooded the room and swept the fantastic shadows into dusky corners where they lay shuddering.

"Yui, get your ass in gear. You work like an old goat with a walker. I expected results." Milliardo didn't bother with greetings. He took off his suit jacket, threw it across the delicate little sofa in a corner of the room, and sat down in his executive chair.

"I expected $2.2 million," Hiiro shot back easily. $2.2 million translated to one year. He wanted a year with Helen. And then maybe more. Maybe more.

The pupils of Milliardo's eyes were like disks of blue fire; he narrowed them and moved to turn on his computer. "Does she even know who the hell you are?"

"She knows I'm Hiiro Yui."

The blond barked out a laugh, his low, musical voice filling the room like a concerto. "She knows _nothing_ about you."

"Modeling isn't all that I am."

Milliardo leaned back and shrugged, the graceful wave of his hand so characteristic of him. Hiiro's fists clenched, and he hid them with discretionary caution. "Look, Yui, I'm what made you. I can take it all away and then where will you be? Back with your little buddies on the street. And then will there be a Helen to admire you? No, there'll be _nothing_ except a violent death ahead of you."

"Are you threatening me?"

"I don't threaten. I'm just retelling your history." Milliardo smiled charmingly. "Now, I understand Helen is a very nice g-"

"Her name is Usagi. Usagi Tsukino," Hiiro interrupted shortly. It was as if he'd just realized it himself. Usagi, not Helen. Same hands of cool ivory, same curves of a white lily throat, same cheeks stained apricot – her name was Usagi. **12**

"Don't interrupt. I understand Helen is a very nice girl, and I understand you don't feel like subjecting her to this kind of an industry but know that you're doing her a _favor_. She'll be rich! _I'll_ be rich." The lines of cruelty appeared around Milliardo's mouth, and thought briefly seared his forehead with its lines.

"That's all you care about."

"Well, it's a win-win situation. Just like our relationship, Yui." Milliardo laughed a little as if he'd just uttered a witticism before leaning forward on his desk again and getting down to business. "I want results by the end of June. That gives you a month and some days. I know you. You work fast with women."

"I work fast with whores," Hiiro retorted bitterly.

"Then consider Helen a whore. See? Problem solved." Hiiro's eyes narrowed with ire at the cavalier mannerisms of Milliardo. "Are you growing attached to her, Yui?" The question seemed to have materialized out of the honey-scented air. Outside, on the terrace, the laburnums nodded slyly at him as if urging him to do the same; he parted his lips and wet them.

"What I'm doing to her … what I'm bringing her to … I feel like it's worse than taking her virginity."

"Then take her for all I care! She's not modeling her virginity."

He wanted to retch on Milliardo's face.

Silence passed as Milliardo studied Hiiro's expressions. Hiiro'd always believed the only way to get rid of a temptation was to yield to it and had always followed that course of action but … egad! he'd been sleeping in the same apartment with Usagi for more than five months – he could have yielded any time he'd wanted to.

_Why hadn't he_? The world belonged to him for a season and then it will go on to brighter prospects, more beautiful things. Time was jealous of him, of her, of everything young and beautiful – he would never be able to keep her forever. And neither would Milliardo. She realized the dreams of great poets and gave shape and substance to the shadows of art – just like Rei. But just like Rei, she can't last. And years from now, she'll no longer see cerulean but a pure opal sky and look around not to meet the eager eyes of men and delicious smiles of charmers but instead blank, close-shuttered windows and staring blinds. And she will shudder to look at the reflection that she'd once fallen in love with.

But Usagi wasn't like that. Usagi had – or so it seemed – no idea that she was exquisite. She seemed barely to have any idea that _he_ was exquisite.

Hiiro sat there, trying to get a hold of himself, to gather up the scarlet threads of life and weave them into a sensible pattern. He passed a hand across his forehead. It was dank with clammy sweat.

"Maybe I should take you off the job and get-"

"No, I'll do it." His sharp words cut easily through Milliardo's hesitance. The blond looked relieved and quickly got down to business.

"I expect another report by the end of June. And then I want you back at work. Ermenegildo Zegna is begging for you as their fall collection's lead model. They were highly disappointed when I informed them that you wouldn't be available this spring. Just be happy your regular employers could understand that you needed a vacation. Though I'm sure even they can't tolerate a year-long vacation."

"I'll do it," Hiiro repeated as if for his own ears only.

"Hugo Boss has been extraordinarily kind," Milliardo reminded him with a pointed stare.

Hiiro scowled. "Because I'm good."

Milliardo scowled back. "That's not the point."

Hiiro stood up from his chair and threw his hands up in the air as if talking to heaven. "I said I'll do it already! What does this guy want!"

"If you don't get it done, I'll more than nag." Milliardo's fair features darkened. Outside, the sky did the same as if in a premonition of rain. Noiselessly and with silver feet, the shadows crept in from the terrace. The colors faded wearily out of things.

"That's hard to imagine."

Milliardo sighed and shot Hiiro a sympathetic look. "Oh, don't hurt yourself, Yui."

He bristled. "I'm more intelligent than you'll ever be."

Milliardo showed no reaction. "I'm wealthier than you'll ever be."

Hiiro made a face and paced a little. "That's not a comparison."

"Whatever. Get out of here." The blond waved a disinterested hand at him.

Hiiro moved to open the door before pausing and turning back briefly. "Oh, by the way, Relena sends her love."

Milliardo didn't even look up. "She always sends her love. You don't have to keep reminding me." Then, under his breath and in addendum: "She needs to stop spending my money. That'll show me she loves me."

There was a pause as Hiiro contemplated his boss. Milliardo cut life to pieces with his epigrams; he didn't want to do the same.

The blond looked up and realized Hiiro still hadn't left. "As long as she doesn't send _you _her love, we're good."

He didn't even waste his time looking disgusted. "Goodbye, Zechs." His last glimpse of Milliardo was of the red climbing up his face and the stapler hurtling toward his own face. He closed the door hastily.

The sound of a heavy object hitting mahogany made Milliardo's pretty blonde secretary jump in her seat.

…

Wow, was that long or was that long? O.o; Overall, I'm pretty happy with it. Not ecstatic, mind you, but happy. It took me about three weeks. --; Hmm … I thought the beginning a little weak and I'm not at all looking forward to writing the next chapter but yes … upped the rating. I think you can see why. A lot of interesting places in New York if you've got the money. It's such a pretty life. :P

Notes:

1. Okay so I don't know if this is possible. The last time I went to New York was too distant in the past. :P The most logical place to park would be in a nearby parking garage but I wanted the instant gratification of Usagi's awe. So they'll have a parking meter. :)

2. Do the descriptions sound a little too much to you? That's because they are. :P Taken right off the Gucci official site so credit is due there. Seems like there are too many words to describe one piece of clothing. Gorgeous outfit – the second or third one under page one of women's cruise. Enjoy. :D

3. The 5000 and something dollar apartment – fairly upper mid range actually. Hiiro's not ridiculous. Neither is he modest.

4. Yum? xD The thing about Jean Georges is that they do half the cooking in front of you. And it has a nice environment – all understated and neutral tones-ey. Very expensive but very worth it. Hiiro knows how to flaunt it. :P

5. Frida – lead women's line designer for Gucci. I love their ads. ;;

6. It's _la merde_. – supposed to mean "it's crap" in more vehement terms – inspired by Holly Golightly from Truman Capote's Breakfast at Tiffany's.

7. Tinky Winky – the supposedly "gay" teletubby.

8. Bungalow 8 – really, really expensive bar. Champagne 30 bucks. Don't even mention the caviar. :P

9. Dorian May and Dorian Gray – Dorian May exists as a personal shopper – fast, efficient, classy. Dorian Gray is the main character of Oscar Wilde's The Picture of Dorian Gray – he's an extremely handsome socialite who transfers his humanity to a painting of himself so that he may look forever young while the painting ages and bears the signs of his sins. It's a witty but dangerous book. Reading it makes me feel sick – beautiful but terrifying.

10. Everywhere's walking distance if you've got the time – quote by Steven Wright.

11. The cat and the restaurant – this was an idea taken from the Black Rose's Love's Labors Lost. I just elaborated a bit. :P Her scene is better though. xD Another note – the cat is supposed to almost parallel Usagi though strangely it's named after Hiiro … :)

12. My favorite animal is steak – quote by Fran Lebowitz.

13. _Duo's eyes were the size of Frisbees as if Quatre'd just told him he'd regurgitated the pillow he'd eaten a month or so ago and it was as good as new_. – if you'll kindly recall the pillow Quatre supposedly ate in his sleep…

14 The tooth fairy teaches children that they can sell body parts for money – quote by David Richerby

15. Taken from a site. The description of the Carlyle – do not own.

16. Restaurant 222 – it is closed. In fact, both of the more swank restaurants on W. 79th St. are closed. Why? Who knows. But let's just pretend it isn't closed. :P

17. Frank Valenza – the owner of Restaurant 222

18. They're talking about the _groom_. – the two teachers that talked about their sister's wedding? Yeah, back to that class. :) That was all made up, by the way. I have no idea how those two teach. And what I wrote might be considered libel … --; I just wanted some more realism.

19. Helen vs. Usagi – I tried to make this very nebulous in Hiiro's mind which, for the majority of this fic, we are limited to. To use the name Helen is a kind of self-detachment from her and only at the end of Spring did Hiiro make this distinction when he corrected Milliardo and fully realize that Usagi was an individual whereas Helen was a symbol.

20. Parts of this chapter were quite severely influenced by Oscar Wilde's The Picture of Dorian Gray. As in there are quotes.

21. Again, I can promise you absolute accuracy aside from the above notes. :D

To my beloveds…:D

LiLSeReNiTiE: Thank you! I love you. xD

AdorableAngel: I can see how Duo would fit the part more snugly. --; But call me inveterate. I can't part with Hiiro/Usagi. ;;

MissAnnThropy2600: Yes, I completely agree. xD I was surprised about the prostitute thing. --; I thought I'd find it in a blog or something but it was actually a site having something to do with licensed prostitution. O.o;

Hoshiko Megami: I'd always planned to update. Just very, very late. --;

Riru-chan: xD Nobody glomps anymore. ;; I miss it. Thanks bunches! And get more sleep. :P

Sylvanisty: It doesn't seem weird. In fact, I agree wholeheartedly. It makes me feel like this piece is more professional. That was partially the reason I started it. O.o; To make myself feel more professional. :)

Sere Star: I'd worried about that but … well … being a model is somewhat different from being a movie star. I don't think people recognize models as much. I mean, I certainly don't know the names of a lot of models and even if I flipped through magazines all day long, I doubt I'd instantly assume somebody was a supermodel when I see him/her in the streets. Unless it's the way they walk … hmmm … I'm talking myself into a corner. xD I'm just saying that not as many people recognize models as they do singers or movie stars. O.o;

Lady Lydia: No, in fact she doesn't know who Hiiro really is. O.o; She wouldn't recognize him. After all, she doesn't seem like the type to take particular notice of fashion, etc. o.o;

Liza: Thanks! I think it was kind of hard to catch but Hiiro was wearing a blond wig and shades the day before. And I don't think Usagi took him that seriously so she probably wouldn't have taken a long look at him.

Bjv: Sorry. ;; I have to admit that I still haven't been able to make myself write a purely Minako story yet. --;

Serenity77: Thanks. :D

Happy cat: The internet is as much a blessing as a curse. xD I guess everybody says that. --; I agree with your opinion on Duo. I know Milliardo's quite a bit OOC but Hiiro … well, I'm trying to give him reason. --; Sometimes I feel really out of touch with what is OOC for Hiiro and what isn't. --; It's getting on my nerves, lol.

Angelwings6117: Yeah, I do that not-clarifying-who's-speaking thing a lot in all of my stories. xD Well, maybe it makes more sense to me but at times I just don't think it really makes a different who said it. But, uh, like I said, maybe it's because I can imagine who said it and the audience is left on its own to figure it out. xD And yeah, I didn't realize others would hear Usagi and Bernie until you pointed it out. xD Maybe the neighbors are so used to it that they've resigned themselves? xD Man I wish I'd thought of that. That would have made that scene a bit more interesting. xD I don't know much about NYU. I only know their undergraduate Finance is really good. I don't think it's particularly good for dramatic writing but then again, I didn't research the top schools for dramatic writing (though, I, too, believe it's probably Julliard's). However, I thought it didn't matter if Usagi went to a good school or not because I didn't want her to be too great. And I only knew about NYU and Columbia in the NYC area at that time so I didn't feel like researching and picked the less respected school. And I know NYU is quite expensive but I tend to think that Usagi's monetary problems came largely because she was paying for and NYU education. ;

Aquafina Rain: You changed your penname. O.o; This one is quite different from the others. Hmmmm. I don't get the blew your nose and giggled bit. xD Do you blow your nose before you giggle? O.o; And no, that girl was not Minako. xD Though Minako will be in here…! You'll be surprised. I think you'll be surprised. :) Happily so, perhaps. I heart you too. xD More than you can imagine.

Tsumaki-chan: Gracias:D

Serenity Maxwell: Lol, you call that long? xD

Saris Yui: I kind of agree that Hiiro/Usagi is a bit used. xD I just can't get out of writing that coupling. So bite me. :sigh: Lol, that's my attitude towards it. xD Thanks for your encouragement:D

Kawaii Usa: Thank you:D

Aoko: xDxD Thank you! It's going to get angsty all right but perhaps not in the way you've imagined it. O.o; Doodydoodydoooooo.

S. Nestor: Man, for the whole first paragraph of your review I thought you were being sarcastic. O.o; It scared me. But other than that, you're absolutely adorable. xD

Bunny-chan1: Thank you:D I feel all arrogant now. :D

Tenshi no Yupiteru: Lol, thank you! Are Hiiro and Usagi going to get together … does it seem like it? xD And is Wufei going to show up … I hadn't planned it … but, well, you never know when I need another character. --;

Shinimegami-025: Lol, thanks. :D

Sara: Relena makes another cameo, as you put it. :D Thank you! Though I can't say for sure whether or not Trowa and Wufei _are_ going to come into the fic. O.o;

Raine of the Darkness Clan: Thank you:D

Kiwi-chan: Thank you. ;; I miss you.

Moon-bunny735: I hope you can say the same about this chapter. xD

**Love me? Please review. I am insecure and this chapter was a monster. :P **


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